


starving in your gravity

by alullabytoleaveby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On-Call Room Sex, Paramedic!Dean, Past Abuse, Romance, Seizures, lots of medical handwaving, surgeon!Cas, tags to be added as I write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alullabytoleaveby/pseuds/alullabytoleaveby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has enough on his plate. Really. </p>
<p>There's his job as a paramedic for the local hospital and, while he loves it, loves getting to help people, the hours are long and the pay leaves much to be desired. There's his definitely-not-a-relationship with Castiel, the hot ER doctor, where's he's completely out of his depth emotionally. And then there's his brother, who's just dropped out of law school and has no idea what he's going to do now.</p>
<p>So what he definitely does not need is his alcoholic deadbeat dad stumbling back into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicKnack22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicKnack22/gifts).



> I started this fic as an explosion of feelings I had while watching an episode of Grey's Anatomy. I've been working on it, slowly and sporadically, and posting it to my Tumblr, but I think it's time that I put it up where maybe some other people might actually see it.
> 
> In no way will this accurately depict a medical setting. All my medical knowledge comes from watching medical dramas on TV and limited life experience. So please, excuse my handwaving.
> 
> All of my thanks and love to nicKnack22 (musingsdeme on Tumblr). She is a lovely human being and the best cheerleader a not so serious fic writer can have. Her enthusiasm for this fic is the only reason you can read it at all.

It’s the phone that wakes Dean in the wee hours of the morning as he’s sleeping in a bed that is definitely not his own. He jolts upright at the noise, a couple of years of taking call as a paramedic making him easy to rouse. He eases himself out of the bed as his phone continues to trill, hoping against hope that it isn’t waking his companion. He digs around in the pile of clothes, where he’d stripped down the night before, until he finds his pants and slips the phone out of his pocket.

Sam’s name lights up the display and Dean, who up until a moment ago thought it had been the hospital calling, feels a spike of fear pierce his gut. Sam’s a couple of timezones away; it’s even earlier where he is. Sam would never call this early unless something was wrong.

"Sammy?" He answer the phone, his voice wavering with worry.

"Hey, uh, Dean. I didn’t think you’d pick up." Which is fucking stupid because Dean has never not picked up, not when it comes to Sam.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Everything’s fine. Didn’t mean to worry you."

"Sam," Dean rubs his eyes tiredly. "It’s four in the morning. No one calls at four in the morning if everything’s fine." He considers going out into the hall, but as he glances back at the bed, he sees two blue eyes staring back at him. Cas is awake. He supposes that he never really hand a chance; Cas is an ER surgeon and just as used to middle of the night wake up calls as Dean is. 

Dean sighs, because he likes Cas, he really does, but it’s not like he wants the guy to know about all his troubles. He gives Cas a tight smile. If he’s already awake, then he knows something’s up. Dean doesn’t really see the point of trying to hide; dude’s gonna ask questions either way. He’s a decent person, Cas is. And while their thing isn’t any sort of official, Cas does care. Dean knows that much, sees it his eyes, feels it in the soft touches of his hands as he caresses his face after they’ve had sex. He’ll ask; he’ll want to know if there’s anything he can do to help.

"I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking an earlier flight."

"Earlier?" And now Dean’s confused because Sam’s exams are starting tomorrow. The flight out at the end of the week was the first one he could get after they were all done. "You finishing your exams early?" Sam coughs a little, a bad cover up for an unenthusiastic laugh.

"Something like that."

"Okay," Dean says but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s not quite right. "When can I expect you?"

"Um. Tomorrow afternoon."

“ _Tomorrow_?” Dean chokes out. “Sam!”

"I’ll explain in person, Dean. I promise."

"What’s going on?" Dean presses anyways.

"Dean," Sam pleads. Dean bites his lip and grunts, annoyed.

"I’m on call until seven tomorrow," he says instead, resigned. He knows that he’s not going to get anymore out of Sam, not if he doesn’t want to talk.

"That’s fine," Sam responds. "I can take a cab." They sit in silence for a moment, neither really sure what to say next, but not really wanting to hang up either.

"Just…promise me you’re not hurt. That it’s nothing serious."

"I’m not hurt," Sam confirms, but says nothing about it not being serious. 

"Get some sleep, Sammy." His brother snorts, softly.

"Yeah, you too. Sorry for waking you."

"Eh, I’m used to it. I’ll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Sam confirms and the line disconnects. Dean slowly gathers his clothes, walks back over to the bed and puts them down. Cas pushes himself up into a sitting position as Dean starts to redress.

"Is everything alright?" Cas asks, his concern genuine. Dean shrugs.

"Probably not. But it’s nothing I can take care of right now."

"It’s your brother?" Dean nods; he hasn’t spoken to him about Sam a whole lot, but Cas knows he exists, that he’s in law school at Stanford. 

"Something’s up. I don’t know what, though. He’s moved his flight up to tomorrow, so I guess I’ll figure it out then." Dean finishes buttoning his shirt and wishes that he hadn’t come right to Cas’ after his shift was over. His escape would be much easier, much quicker if he was wearing one of his t-shirts. He sits down on the bed to pull on his socks and shoes and mutters, "I should probably go."

"I would ask you to stay for breakfast, but I know you won’t." Cas says with a wry smile, but he shifts in bed, gets up. He’s never stayed before, turned down every polite invitation that Cas has offered. "At least let me make you a cup of coffee," he says, coming around to the other side of the bed where Dean is.

"Cas, that’s not necessary," Dean protests from where he’s sitting on the bed, hunched over and tying his shoes. 

"Dean," Cas says forcefully but kindly, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. "Let me." Dean sighs, nods his head, and concedes. 

A cup of coffee. It can’t do any harm, really.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas makes Dean a cup of coffee and, instead of trying to coax him to stay, he pours it in a travel mug and hands it to Dean without question. It throws Dean a little because as many times as Cas has joked about Dean always turning down his invitations to stay the night or for breakfast the next morning or hell, even for a drink before they get to the part where they take their clothes off, the invitation was still there. But this, this is a clear dismissal.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs, feeling hurt even though he has no reason to be. This is exactly what he wants—no strings, no attachments, no feelings. Dean does not want a boyfriend, has made that clear with every encounter he’s had with Cas. They’re not exclusive, they’re not in a relationship, they’re not a  _thing_. “I’ll bring this back to you later, at the hospital.”

“No rush,” Cas shrugs, pulling down a mug from the cabinet next to the sink and pouring himself his own cup of coffee.

“Well. I’ll um. See you later then,” Dean shuffles awkwardly and makes for the door. Cas—who always walks Dean to the door—gives Dean a curt nod and sits down at his kitchen table to nurse his coffee.

Dean may not be the smartest man, but he’s good at body language, at understanding what isn’t said. And something isn’t right. It could be nothing—could just be the early hour of the morning. Hell it’s still dark out. The sun won’t be rising for another three hours. 

But as Dean gets in his car and drives towards his apartment for a quick shower and a change of clothes, he can’t help but think that something between the two of them is going to break, and soon. He tries to shake off the feeling—it’s certainly not the first time someone’s broken up with him—but it sits heavy, just on the edge of his mind and doesn’t go away.

Dean arrives at the hospital early and takes his time changing into his uniform and getting his assignment for the day. He leans against the ambulance he’ll be taking out today and waits for Benny—his partner—to show up. He finishes off the coffee that Cas made him, even if it is a bit cold and gross now. It seems a shame to waste it, though, when Cas went through the trouble of making it. Benny shows up sooner than Dean would’ve thought, but other than a raised eyebrow, he doesn’t comment on Dean’s punctuality.

They’re off on a call before he knows it—a car crash that left one driver a little banged up, but other than that, no serious injuries. The day is busy with a variety of scrapes and bruises, broken bones and sprains, and in one case, a big trauma where one guy didn’t make it. The focus his job requires means that he doesn’t think too much about the situation with Cas or come up with worst case scenarios for why his little brother is coming home early.

It’s a blessed relief to lose himself in work, but once he’s clocked out for the day, changed out of his uniform, and ready to go home, he’s exhausted to the bone. He sees Cas working in the emergency department as he wanders to his car and raises a hand, a quick gesture of acknowledgement, but Cas doesn’t wave back, doesn’t even see him. It feels like a rejection, even though Dean knows that it isn’t.

Every step he takes until he reaches his car makes him feel smaller, more invisible, and by the time he’s at the Impala, he’s almost afraid he’s not going to be able to see over the steering wheel.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas isn’t aware he’s holding his breath until the door clicks shut behind Dean and suddenly he’s slumping forward in his chair, exhaling heavily. The sound of Dean’s car rumbling to life reaches his ears and when it fades—and only when it fades—does Cas finally allow the last bits of tension to seep out of him.  He wraps his hands around his mug, relishing the almost too hot feeling of the ceramic warming his palms.

He’s in too deep. Cas knows he is, really. And the longer it goes on, the harder it will be when this thing between him and Dean ends.

That doesn’t stop him from  _wanting_ Dean whenever he sets eyes on the man.

Really, that’s been the problem from the get go. From when he first arrived at the hospital and took a trauma that Dean was bringing in, he wanted the man, mind body and soul. He wanted to know the little things and the big things, the significant and the insignificant, the happy and the sad and he wanted to know all of these things immediately, before he’d even spoken a word to Dean. 

It’s a lot, Cas knows. It’s why he hasn’t spoken of it out loud to anyone. Especially not Dean. The strength of his feelings would give anyone else a moment of pause but Dean. Well. Cas knows he’d run for the hills.

It’s not like Dean hasn’t been clear about what he wants. In fact, he’s been  _nothing but_  clear. Everyone at the hospital knows that Dean’s great for a good time, but he doesn’t want anything more. He is not the man one should pin their hopes and dreams on. 

Cas knows all of this. He does. And he tried, oh he really did try, to stay away from Dean. But jokes about how doctors think they’re gods aside, Cas is only a man. So when Dean had eventually sauntered over to Cas and flirtily suggested they get a drink sometime, well. Cas had been weak. Cas had said yes. 

And now he’s here, three months later, and he’s in too deep. And he can’t keep doing this, can’t keep letting Dean into his life, into his bed, and into his heart when he knows that Dean will never do the same for him. 

Something’s got to give. And soon.

The sun in rising, light peaking over the horizon, and Cas only becomes aware of how long he’s been sitting at his kitchen table by the light nudge of his cat against his pajama clad leg. He reaches down and scratches behind her ears; she meows, demanding food and Cas sighs.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “Enough of this. It’s time for food.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cas feeds the cat and while she’s happily munching away on her food, he drains his coffee in the sink and goes to get ready for the day. He’ll be pulling a 12 hour shift in the ER today and while it’s not ideal, he knows that at least it will keep him occupied. 

His fridge is empty—Cas isn’t one for cooking in general and grocery shopping is a trial to be endured only under the duress of having to eat a mustard sandwich on the non-moldy remains of a loaf of bread—so he doesn’t bother to try to pretend to poke around for something to pack for lunch. He’ll grab something from the cafeteria, as much as he’s not overly fond of the food there. 

On the way to work, he stops off at the local Starbucks for a latte, since he wasted the cup of coffee he made earlier with his woolgathering. The line is long, but the caffeine—glorious glorious caffeine—is totally worth the disgruntled glare he gets from his supervisor Zachariah when he strolls to the nurses station fifteen minutes late to pick up his first chart for the day.

He glances over the chart—it looks like some woman’s sprained her knee but he’ll order an x-ray to be sure and an ultrasound to make sure there are no blood clots—and walks towards the exam room when he feels a hand on his elbow and he smiles slightly.

“Good morning, Anna,” he says, “psych consult already? It’s only eight am.” Anna laughs.

“I’ve been on call since five,” she replies grumpily and plucks his to go cup out of his hand and takes a long sip. “Damn, this is so much better than the stuff we have in the break room.”

“And it’s  _mine_ , thank you very much,” Cas responds, taking his cup back. Anna shrugs.

“What’s yours is mine, Cas. That’s what friendship means. Besides, I’ve been down here five times already today.” Cas winces.

“Going to be a long day then?”

“Oh definitely. Lunch later? Noonish?” She asks, pulling away and turning to head down the opposite corridor. Cas nods in agreement.

“If I can get away.” He drains the last of his coffee, throws out the cup and goes to deal with the patient in bed four that’s waiting for him. The waiting room is already starting to fill up and patients not in need of urgent care are lining the hallways in beds to free up exam rooms. It’s nonstop until lunchtime—there’s nothing surgical that needs to be taken care of unfortunately (Cas really would welcome the relief of spending a few hours doing nothing but focusing on repairing someone else’s body)—and even then, there’s definitely patients still to be seen, things that still need doing. It’s only his grumbling stomach and Anna physically forcing him out of the ER and towards the cafeteria that make him concede to taking a lunch break.

Cas knows his reluctancy to leave is sending up red flags for Anna that  _something_  is up; surprisingly, he’s not too bothered about it. He’s never been one to discuss his personal life too much, especially at work, but Cas can’t help but think that it’s time for him to lean on a friend. 

He takes his time getting his food and the entire time, Anna watches him like a hawk. When he sits down, he almost expects her to pounce immediately, but she doesn’t. Instead she lets him pick up half of his sandwich and take a huge bite out of it while she sips her soup. They eat for a few minutes under her intense scrutiny, but Cas is a doctor and has certainly been under more pressure. Cas finishes half of his sandwich and the moment the last bite reaches his lips, Anna puts down her spoon and folds her hands together on the table.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or am I going to have to guess?” Cas shrugs.

“It’s hardly a guessing game, is it?”

“Dean Winchester, then,” Anna says with a sigh. Cas hasn’t spoken about his ‘relationship’ with Dean much to Anna but she does know that they’re sleeping together. She’s certainly made it known that she thinks it’s a bad idea—she’s never been one to keep her opinion to herself, even if she knows that Cas doesn’t want to hear it.

She’s right, of course. Getting involved with Dean was a colossally stupid idea. But it’s one that Castiel can’t bring himself to regret. It’s worth it, he thinks, to be able to have had even just a small piece of Dean now, even if it means that he’ll only have himself to blame when he’s pining and heartbroken later.

“So what did he do this time? Turn down your offer of breakfast again? Call out someone else’s name during sex? Continue being emotionally evasive and afraid of commitment?” Castiel picks at the crust of his sandwich as he tries to figure out an answer to Anna’s question.

Because Dean hasn’t done anything wrong. Not really. Not loving Cas, not wanting him the same way that Cas wants him isn’t his fault. It isn’t something he could change or prevent. All the same, that doesn’t mean what they have is healthy or fulfilling. It’s making Cas just as unhappy as he’d be if they weren’t messing around.

And that’s the crux of it right there. He’s done his best to guard his heart, to not let his hopes rise, but in the end it’s not going to work. It was never going to work.

At least if they stop now, they have a small chance of being friends. 

“I think I need to end it,” he finally verbalizes and Anna blinks in surprise before her face softens with sympathy. She reaches out, lays her hand over his, and gives him a comforting squeeze.

“Ice cream?” She offers kindly. “My treat?”

“Only if you’ll follow up with a drink after I get off shift tonight.” Anna chuckles but nods.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll meet you at Balthazar’s around 8:30.” Castiel picks up the other half of his sandwich and even though he doesn’t feel much like eating it, forces it down.

—

Cas catches a glimpse of Dean walking out of the hospital, duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, and it takes physical effort not to turn and acknowledge him, to at least offer him a smile and a wave. 

Let go, he reminds himself. He’s got to let Dean go.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dean comes home from work, he can see the lights are on in his apartment when he puts the Impala in park. He doesn’t get out of the car immediately, even if he is worried and concerned and confused by Sam’s decision to come home early. Instead, he watches the window from the driver’s seat, leaning forward onto the steering wheel to get a better view. 

Sam must have heard the car pull up—his baby is many things, but quiet is not one of them—because after a couple of minutes, there’s a shadow pulling the curtains back. Dean makes eye contact with his brother and they hold each other’s gaze for a minute before Sam lets the curtains fall back into place. Dean sighs, but slowly gets out of the car.

There’s food on the table and Sam is hovering nervously next to it when Dean finally enters the apartment.

“I made dinner,” he offers weakly. Dean raises his eyebrows in skepticism because Sam has never been particularly talented when it comes to cooking. That’s always been Dean’s forte, something he took over to make sure that Sam was getting three square meals a day and some semblance of normalcy while he was in high school. “Okay, I ordered dinner,” Sam admits.

“There’s the brother I know,” Dean says with a forced chuckle. They eat in tense silence, stealing glances at each other through bites of chicken parmesan and garlic bread. They get as far as starting the dishes before Dean can’t take it anymore.

He shuts off the faucet and drops the sponge onto the dish he’s washing in the sink as he blurts out, “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?” Sam takes a deep breath, puts the glass that he was drying away in the cabinet before he turns to him. He crosses his arms over his chest, an extra layer of armor, like he needs to protect himself from Dean. He used to do it all the time, back when he was raring for an argument with John and going to tell him something their father didn’t want to hear. Dean never thought, not for one second, that he’d see that behavior used against him.

“I’m dropping out of law school,” he says after a moment and Dean stares at him, his jaw dropping slightly in disbelief as he tries to process the the sentence.

“You’re…. _why_?” Sam shrugs. “Sam, you’ve wanted this your entire life. This is what you’ve always worked for!”

“I thought…I thought it was what I wanted. But I hated it. I hated it so much.”

“You hated it?” Dean asks, uncomprehending but desperately trying to understand. Sam’s been telling him he wanted to be a lawyer since he was ten and Dean’d done everything in his power to help him get to this point. And now Sam is quitting, quitting his dream, and Dean just doesn’t _understand_. There’s got to be more to the story than Sam just not liking it.

“It was awful, Dean. I was so miserable all the time and I just….couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you _quit_?” Dean asks incredulously. Sam does not quit. Not ever. He’s tenacious and stubborn and certainly used to dealing with hardship—their lives have never, not once, been easy. But Sam’s always risen to the task in front of him. It’s something he’s _always_ admired about his brother.

“Yeah, I quit,” Sam confirms, softly, quietly, almost a bit in awe of himself. Like he’s still amazed he had the guts to go through with it.

“But…you have a life in California!” Sam shrugs, squeezes his arms around himself tighter. “You have friends and a girlfriend and—what does Jess have to say about this?” Dean’s aware that he sounds panicked, frantic, but it just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t jive with who he knows his brother to be.

“We uh. We broke up,” Sam admits, looking off to the side, unable to meet Dean’s eyes as he says it. His shoulders have slumped a bit in shame and upset, but Dean resists the urge to hug his brother and tell him it will all be okay. 

Things are very much _not_ okay at the moment.

“You broke up?” Dean repeats back, disbelieving and shocked. Sam and Jess started dating in undergrad. He brought her home to meet Dean after their first semester together. They’ve always been weirdly solid, incredibly together, and Dean was sure that he’d be getting a phone call soon about shopping for rings. The distance between the brothers had grown, certainly, considering the geography between them, but never once had Dean thought he wouldn’t know things like this, _important_ things about what was happening in Sam’s life. “When?” 

“About a couple weeks ago, it’s not important.”

“It’s not important? Sammy, you love that girl. You think the sun shines out her ass! And you’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. You were reading case studies at libraries when you were in high school! And now you’ve broken up with your girlfriend, dropped out of school, and I didn’t even have a clue that there was anything wrong!”

“See, that’s exactly why I needed to quit!” Sam’s voice is raising now and he unfolds his arms, no longer on the defensive. “I was so caught up by what it would mean to be a lawyer, that it would finally let me take care of you for once, that you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, that I couldn’t even tell that I didn’t want it. It’s this…this mold that I’ve forced myself into because I felt that you expected it from me. So yeah, I did want to be a lawyer, but I realized this semester that I didn’t want it for me, I wanted it because of you.” Dean visibly flinches and regret colors Sam’s face when the full force of what he just said hits him.

“So this is my fault?” Dean asks, his voice surprisingly calm. He’s amazed at his own composure, really, considering the inside of his head is a swirling mess of emotion.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t put words in my mouth,” Sam pleads. But Dean’s not listening; he’s looking, studying the man standing before him. Logically, Dean knows he looks the same. Nothing about his appearance has changed. But there’s something there, lurking beneath the surface and it’s something that Dean’s never seen before. And according to Sam, it’s always been there. There’s this giant part of his brother that he doesn’t know staring him right in the face, that he never even noticed, and its existence feels like failure.

“Dean?” Sam presses, worried at the silence that stretches out between them. 

“I gotta. I gotta go,” Dean says, because he really can’t be in the same room as his brother right now, not until he’s got his head on straight. His hand darts into the pocket of his jeans and the comfort of the metal of his car keys soothes him. He walks out the door without looking back, gets back into his car, and drives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and the kind words.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean’s subconscious must really hate him because, while he didn’t set out to drive to Cas’, that’s where he winds up. It’s even more pathetic because Dean’s pretty damn sure that Cas isn’t home. The lights are out, the curtains drawn, and Cas’ car—a small, nerdy little Honda—isn’t in its usual spot in the driveway. Dean cuts the ignition and sits in the car for a while. It’s quiet out here in the suburbs; Dean lives closer into the city, and there’s always so much _noise_. And normally he doesn’t mind it so much, likes how the comings and goings of people’s lives infiltrate his own, make him feel a little less solitary, but right now the easy silence is soothing; calming. 

He leans back in the driver’s seat and, instead of leaving, like he knows he should, he looks at Cas’ house. He likes Cas’ house. It’s small, not ostentatious—even though Dean’s sure that he’s making the big bucks as a doctor—cosy, comfortable. He hasn’t spent that much time in it (and what little time he has spent has been in the bedroom) but he’s seen the family photos on the wall in the foyer, the large collection of books in the study with two large arm chairs, and he’s felt first hand the high thread count sheets and the soft mattress where Cas lays his head to rest. 

Everything about Cas’ house is warm and soft and welcoming. And Dean’s apartment—spartan, minimal, and cold—is just a roof over his head. He doesn’t actually enjoy spending any time there. Hell, he looks for any excuse not to be there. It’s only when Sam’s home that he actually sticks around for a bit, uses his kitchen to cook meals he knows his brother loves, gets all the chores done, and spends an extended amount of time on the couch having movie marathons.

Dean chalks it up to all the moving they did growing up. He never had the two story house with the white picket fence and the dog. Well, not since before his mother died in a fire when he was four. Home isn’t four walls and a roof to him. The closest thing he ever had to that is the car, the Impala, that’s been there through it all. Dean’s still grateful that when his dad decided to make himself scarce, he’d left the car in Dean’s hands. 

And while there’s a certain sense of familiarity, nostalgia, and safety that he gets whenever he’s behind the wheel, Dean’s always found that ‘home’ is with people. With Bobby and Ellen who more than once took the brothers in when John was out on a bender, with Charlie, the best friend that Dean’s ever had, and with Sam, the kid he’s been taking care of since his dad put him in Dean’s arms and told him to get out of their burning house.

It takes Dean a while until he feels that sense of ‘home’ with people. It doesn’t come easily. It took Dean years before he would readily accept help from Bobby—and only then because he was trying to take care of Sam.But there’s that definite tug, the one that Dean does his best to resist, when it comes to Cas. It’s probably why he showed here instead of crashing on Benny’s couch or going to the nearest bar to drink until he blacks out. 

Part of Dean wants to let Cas in and the thought terrifies him. 

There’s a knock on the driver’s side window and Dean just about jumps through the roof of his car in surprise. Hurriedly he turns, grasping for the door handle, ready to hop out and explain himself. Cas is standing there, his head tilted to the side, and he’s squinting a bit like he’s not really sure it’s Dean in his driveway.

“I…didn’t think we had plans tonight,” Cas says, his words just this side of slurred.

“Are you drunk?” Dean asks. It’s a Thursday night and Cas, as far as he knows, has never been one to over indulge, especially not when he has work the next day. It’s unsettling and out of character and it is definitely throwing Dean through a loop.

“Just a little. Definitely not drunk enough to be imagining you in my driveway, though.” Dean winces.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I just. I didn’t _plan_ on being here. And then I kinda…was. But you weren’t home and I didn’t feel like driving off again yet. Sorry, it’s creepy, I know.” 

There’s a charged pause where they stare at each other for what is probably too long to pass off as casual. The coldness that Dean had seen in Cas’ demeanor earlier is still there, lurking beneath the surface. And Dean knows he has no right to expect anything else, especially not when he just randomly shows up at the house of the guy he’s sleeping with but definitely not dating unannounced. 

But soon enough something melts in Cas’ expression and he sighs. Then tentatively, like he’s not sure if it’s the right question to ask, he says“Dean, do you want to come in?” 

Dean takes a deep breath, nods. “Yeah, Cas. I…I think I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for about 1 update a week (the day to be determined by my work schedule). We'll see if I can keep it up. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Anna’s already at Balthazar’s—the bar across the street from the hospital— and two drinks in when Cas arrives at the end of his shift. He’s exhausted, really, having been up since before dawn and working a 12 hour shift in the ER where a child puked up on him not once, but twice. But Anna already has a gin and tonic waiting for him, like the angel she is, and Cas has never been more thankful that he has friends than this particular moment. 

He plops himself onto the empty stool next to Anna and downs half his drink in one go. 

“Well, I’m guessing someone had a long day,” Balthazar says with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk.

“You have no idea.” Balthazar responds by merely pouring him another drink that’s even heavier on the gin. Cas gives a small laugh.

“Go on,” Anna says, “You have to catch up.” Cas finishes off his first drink and reaches for the second. He doesn’t drink it for a moment, just drags his hand through the condensation thoughtlessly, before raising it to his lips. Balthazar leaves them to attend to some other customers who need drinks.

“I’m really hoping that the rest of your day was better than mine,” Cas says when the silence between them has stretched out a bit too long. Anna shrugs.

“It wasn’t anything particularly bad. Michael was in again—there was a robbery over on Brown Street and he needed to get a statement from the victim.”

“How was he?”

“The victim?”

“No, Michael,” Cas says with a smirk and a small amount of color appears in Anna’s cheeks. Michael’s one of the police officers that regularly comes through the ER, collecting statements from patients or waiting for suspects to be discharged so he could question them. He’s also had a raging crush on Cas’ red haired friend since the moment he laid eyes on her and has never been particularly subtle about it.

“He asked me out to dinner,” she says with an air of forced nonchalance. “I said I’d think about it.” Cas rolls his eyes.

“ _Anna_ ,” he starts but she shakes her head.

“I know, okay? Ugh. It’s just. What if I go and we sit there in awkward silence because we have nothing in common and it’s the worse date in history?”

“What if you don’t?” Cas counters. Anna shrugs.

“I just don’t want him to be disappointed.” Cas’ expression melts at this. 

“Anna, that boy is incredibly smitten with you. The only way you could disappoint him is by saying no.” He waves Balthazar back over. “The lady here needs more liquid courage!” Anna smacks him in the arm.

“Oh is she finally going to accept a date with Michael?” Balthazar asks. This time, Anna flushes visibly.

“Cas!” She whines, “You’re supposed to be my friend.” Balthazar rolls his eyes.

“Darling, if I were you, I’d have climbed that man like a tree the first time he smiled at me.” Anna, if possible, blushes harder. Cas attempts to pay for the drink but Balthazar waves him away.

“It’s on the house tonight, Cassie. You’re breaking up with Dean Winchester. When faced with that information, taking your money seems a bit cruel.” Cas winces, takes a drink and lets the burn of the gin ease the twinge in his chest at the mention of Dean. He knows it’s the right thing to do but the decision has been weighing on him all day. 

“So does everyone in this bar know?" 

“Well not _everyone_. I haven’t had time to tell the people who came in after you.” Cas groans.

“I need more to drink.”

“Here, here!” Anna calls out, raising her glass. Cas rolls his eyes but clinks his cup with hers and knocks back the rest of his drink.

It’s two more drinks in each that Anna starts to get restless. She stands and drags Cas, stumbling, away from the bar, and over to the juke box that stands mostly neglected in the corner. Cas sways slightly, his brow furrowed and she flips through the option and chooses a song. It’s not something that he recognizes and it’s too loud in the bar for him to make out the lyrics. But he can hear the guitar riff and the beat of drums and then Anna grabs hold of his hands and starts to dance with him.

Awkwardly, Cas shuffles along and Anna laughs at his pathetic attempt at dancing. She leans close, puts her hands on his hips and whispers in his ear, “You have really got to loosen up, Cas.”

She forces his hips to move in time with her and the music and soon enough Cas picks up the rhythm—well, at least he hopes. In time, Cas even finds himself smiling, just a little, as he and Anna continue to move to the music. He’s having fun and the music and the drinks and the movement of his body distracts him from all the problems weighing him down. He’s doing well, really, until a stray thought sneaks into his head and he wonders what it would be like to dance with Dean. 

It’s like a punch to the gut and even though the music’s still playing, Cas pulls away from Anna and heads back to the bar. He clutches it desperately, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy and too warm, as Anna follows him and lays a questioning hand on his shoulder. Cas shakes his head and Anna nods, understanding. She waves at Balthazar and drags him outside. 

The fresh, crisp air does wonders and Cas feels a bit better once he takes a few deep breaths.They’re both a little too drunk to drive, so Anna calls a cab and, her arm around Cas’s middle, walks them over to the benches that are perched outside the entrance to the hospital. They don’t talk as they wait and sober up a bit, but Anna does lean her head on Cas’ shoulder. Cas wraps his arm around her, letting the warmth of another human being comfort him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Cas isn’t expecting Dean to be in his driveway when the taxi drops him off. Dean’s _never_ come over without calling or making plans with Cas first. Cas still isn’t sure if it’s because Dean’s trying to be respectful or because he’s trying to put more distance between them. 

So Cas is confused, sure, but he’s still drunk enough where Dean showing up on his doorstep isn’t considered a bad thing. They walk—well, Cas staggers and Dean lags behind him a couple of steps, his shoulders hunched up around his ears—to Cas front door. He misses the lock three times, his hands shaking and uncharacteristically unsteady, before he slots the key in correctly and turns it the right way. His lack of coordination is a combination of nervousness, anticipation, and being inebriated and Cas almost wishes he were a bit more sober so that he wouldn’t be making as much of an ass out of himself. The whole time, Dean stands behind him, hovering and hesitating, like he wants to help but can’t bring himself to offer.  

It stings a bit, but Cas supposes that he shouldn’t have expected any different.

Once they’re inside Cas shrugs off his coat and throws it over the back of a chair and gestures for Dean to sit. He does—folds himself into the shifty wooden chair at Cas’ kitchen table, puts his arms on the table and stares at his hands. He won’t make eye contact with Cas and he hasn’t said anything since Cas asked him if he wanted to come in. It’s unsettling.

“Is everything—“ Cas croaks out before stopping to clear his throat, “Is everything okay?” Dean shrugs.

“Yes. No.” He purses his lips, lost in his own thoughts before he blurts out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” Dean pushes himself up and makes to leave, but Cas reaches out quickly, stumbling slightly, and grabs hold of his upper arm.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” he tells him soothingly, like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I don’t.” Dean pauses, looks around the kitchen some, before he goes back to staring at his feet. He still won’t look at Cas and it’s incredibly frustrating. “I don’t want to talk.”

“That’s fine.” Cas doesn’t let go of Dean’s arm—he’s afraid if he does, Dean’s going to take off. But with his other hand, he cups Dean’s face, forces Dean to look up, to look at him. Dean let’s him but his gaze only flickers up quickly to Cas’ face before it stays steadily downward.

“Dean, would you like to come to bed with me?” Dean flinches and Cas pulls his hand away from Dean’s face.

“I…uh. I don’t really want to have sex.” And Cas can’t help the giggle that bubbles up. He’s not sure why it’s funny, but the idea of Dean _not_ wanting sex is hilarious. He’s not even offering a fuck—he really just wanted to go to bed. He’s had too much to drink and is way too tired to even begin to think about the necessary mechanics required for sex.

“I was honestly just talking about sleeping, but your objection is duly noted. We won’t have sex.” At this, Dean’s eyes snap upwards, questioningly peering at Cas’ face, as if he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious or not.

“Just sleeping?” He asks and Cas nods.

“Scout’s honor.” At this, Dean snorts.

“Like you’d ever make it as a boy scout.” And Cas laughs because Dean’s right. He can repair someone’s insides and set their bones and stitch them back together but Cas would never make it one night out in the woods. 

“C’mon Dean. Let’s go to bed.” Finally, Cas let’s go of Dean’s arm but only long enough that he can hold Dean’s hand and lace their fingers together. Dean lets him lead the way to his bedroom, even though he knows where it is, has been there multiple times and, on more than one occasion, carried Cas into it while they were kissing frantically, Cas legs wrapped around Dean’s waist. 

Cas pulls away and lets go of Dean’s hand after they cross the threshold, and begins to disrobe. Dean carefully closes the door as Cas unbuttons his shirt, stripping it off and letting it drop to the floor in a heap. Shirtless, he heads to the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room and removes two pairs of pajama pants and the soft t-shirts that he sleeps in.

He shoves a pair of pajamas into Dean’s hands and this spurs Dean—who was unabashedly staring—into action. He finally shrugs off his jacket and sits down on the bed to undo the laces on his boots. Cas finishes getting changed and then disappears to the en suite bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. There’s something easy, almost domestic, about them disrobing side by side. There’s none of the franticly charged sexual energy between them that there normally is, but Cas is okay with it’s absence. What they have tonight is far more intimate and personal than anything else in their not-relationship.

When he comes back Dean is curled up on the far side of the bed. He’s not asleep—his eyes are wide open and questioning as Cas stares at him from the bathroom door.

Cas gives him a small smile, shuffles over to the bed and crawls in. He lays on his side towards Dean, their bodies making a pair of parentheses under the covers. Before Cas can think about his actions, he reaches out and softly drags his fingers over Dean’s cheek. Dean surprises him and leans in towards the touch so Cas doesn’t remove his fingers. Instead, he rests gently on Dean’s face, brushing his thumb absentmindedly over Dean’s cheekbone.

Dean takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes. Cas suspects that Dean means to sleep now and he shifts himself slightly so he can reach to turn off the lamp at the bedside table. 

His fingers are wrapped around the switch when Dean speaks. “Sam came home. He’s dropping out of school.” Cas lets his hand slip from the lamp and he twists back around to look at Dean. His eyes are still closed, but too tight for any facade at sleep and his jaw is clenched.

“Oh Dean,” Cas breathes out with a sigh. He leans forward, kisses Dean’s forehead. “It’s not your fault.” At this, Dean’s eyes fly open and he stares at Castiel in disbelief and surprise. Cas doesn’t have a chance to make sense of the emotions on Dean’s face because the next moment, Dean’s lips are pressed against his. Castiel freezes for half a second before he yields, lets Dean kiss him to his heart’s content. Dean cups Cas’ face, presses him back into the mattress as he kisses him fervently and Cas reaches up to bury his hand in Dean’s hair as he kisses him back just as eagerly. 

They kiss for awhile, but it doesn’t go further. Eventually the urgency fades and it’s just the lazy slide of lips and tongues, the press of two bodies against each other. It’s as close to happy as Cas has felt in weeks; Cas wraps his arm around Dean’s back, pressing him closer, as if he can physically keep Dean where he is then the contentment will stay.

But they can’t make out forever and eventually, Dean pulls back. He doesn’t go far though, just rests his head on Cas’ chest. It shatters something inside Castiel, a wall he’s tried to keep up, even as it cracks and crumbles around him. There’s no going back now, Cas thinks. He’s never going to get Dean Winchester out from under his skin and if he’s honest with himself, he was never going to be able to do it from the start. From the first moment he laid eyes on Dean, he’d been lost.

Carefully, so as not to disturb their position too much, Cas finally shuts off the lights. Dean’s breathing evens out and soon enough, he’s asleep. Cas lays there, staring at the ceiling for a while.

Anna, he thinks, is going to be so disappointed in him.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean wakes up to a warm, furry body laying itself across his face. He blinks awake with a sneeze, disoriented, and the cat, who was trying to make a bed on his head, hisses, scared, before primly stalking down to the corner of the bed. She jumps down with a thunk—Cas has perhaps been feeding her just a bit too much—and walks out of the room, her tail twitching behind her. 

Dean watches it all a little gobsmacked. He’s been to Cas’ plenty of times, has slept in his bed often enough, and never once did he notice that Cas had a cat. 

He sits up in the bed, rubs sleepily at his face, and the night before comes back to him all in a rush. His cheeks flush, embarrassed, and he winces. Because yes, Dean _did_ get into a stupid fight with his brother. And yes, Dean _did_ show up stupidly on Cas’ doorstep when he wasn’t even home like some sort of creepy stalker. And finally, Dean _did_ curl up in bed with the dude and there wasn’t even sex involved.

Yup. That all actually happened.

Dean knows he should feel ashamed of himself. He didn’t need to get Cas caught up in the drama of his life. Cas may have been comforting, helped ease the panic and hurt and upset surging through him, but Dean knows he was out of line. Hell, he’s so far out of line, he’s not sure how Cas has it in him to be as patient with him as he was.

He groans and flops back down on the bed. As great as a little morning sex would have been, he’s glad that Cas isn’t in bed anymore to see this, that he can deal with how humiliated he feels in peace.  

Slowly, he gets dressed and makes his way to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and gargle some mouthwash. Cas, he knows, is going to try and insist he stay for breakfast or make him coffee or just do _something_ nice for Dean that he doesn’t deserve. Dean’s going to have to tell him no, going to just have to endure that flash of disappointment in Cas’ eyes.

Cas is in the kitchen, sitting at the table, one hand holding his cell phone to his ear, the other rubbing at his temple, trying to soothe away a headache.He’s frowning, his face tense and drawn as the person on the other line speaks. He hasn’t noticed Dean yet and while Dean doesn’t want to interrupt, he really can’t stay any longer.  

He’d slip out without saying goodbye, if he could, but Dean’s not that much of a jerk. Cas was kind to him last night. He at least deserves to know that Dean is leaving. Dean can give him that much. 

But just as he opens his mouth to get Cas’ attention, Cas rolls his eyes and speaks.

“What did you want me to do, Anna? He was sitting in my driveway! I’m not enoughof a dick to break up with him when he’s so clearly troubled.” Dean ducks back behind the doorway, and leans against the wall. Cas continues. “There were family issues, Anna. He was upset.” 

There’s a pause and then “No, I didn’t sleep with him. It wasn’t a booty call! I know you’ve never been particularly fond of Dean, but he’s not like that.” Dean grimaces with shame, because Cas is so so wrong. Dean is _exactly_ like that.

“I know what I said at lunch, Anna. It just wasn’t the right time. And before you say it, yes, I know there is no  _right_ time, but even you have to admit that turning him away would’ve been a little cruel. There was no need for me to be so…harsh.”

Cas continues to argue with Anna, to defend Dean’s and his actions, but Dean doesn’t hear any of it. He’s heard enough, really.

Cas wants to break things off. It’s not a surprise; hell, Dean’s been expecting it. But it hurts more than he thought it would. And Dean likes Cas, he really does; likes him enough to let him go, when he clearly wants rid of Dean. So with a deep breath, he steels himself against his own emotions and turns back into the kitchen. 

This time, Cas notices him straight off the bat. His eyes widen and all the color drains from his face.

“Anna, I have to go,” he mumbles before hastily pressing the end call button, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“The cat woke me up.” Dean licks his lips, subconsciously stalling. “I, uh, didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Matilda doesn’t like strangers,” Cas says, his brow furrowed, like he’s not quite sure how he’s having this conversation right now. “She generally tends to stay out of the way when I have people over.”

Another pause and then they both try to speak at the same time.

“Dean, how much of—“

“I should go—“ Dean exhales out of his nose loudly, his lips pressed together. Cas bites his lip.

“You first,” he offers to Cas, hoping that the awkwardness of the situation will discourage him from finishing his question. It doesn’t. 

“How much did you hear, Dean?” Honestly, he doesn’t really need Dean to answer. Cas knows that whatever he managed to overhear was too much. The jig is up. 

“It’s not important, Cas,” Dean reassures. “Really.”

“Of course it’s important. _You_ are important.” Cas sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.” Dean laughs humorlessly. It’s over regardless of how Cas does this. And at the moment, he’s not really feeling bad about the fact that this way makes Cas out to be the jerk. It’s a role that Dean’s used to and he knows from experience that the guilt Cas feels is going to be outweighed by the relief of not being attached to him sooner than he thinks.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you around.” It’s said as a courtesy but it’s something that Dean plans to make sure _doesn’t_ happen. It’s going to be a bit difficult to avoid Cas at the hospital, but it’s not like Dean spends a whole lot of time in the ER if he doesn’t want to. He’ll just have to keep under the radar for a few months until this all blows over. 

“Dean, wait!” Cas calls out to him, but Dean’s already on his way out the door. For both their sakes, Dean’s glad that he doesn’t chase after him. 

He starts off his drive listening to some music, but once he rounds the corner, gets out of Cas’ development, he shuts it off. He’s too restless, an itch underneath his skin that he can’t scratch, and the music only makes him feel worse. And while silence leaves him alone with his thoughts, driving gives him some peace. 

—

Sam’s sleeping on the sofa and Dean’s not quite sure how his large moose of a body fits on his crappy couch. He’d almost be impressed if it didn’t make him feel incredibly guilty. The only reason Sam would sleep on the couch when he has a perfectly good room with a bed to use is because he was waiting up, worried about Dean.

He shuts the door quietly behind him and shuffles over to stand in front of Sam who’s snoring soundly. His face is pinched a bit, clearly uncomfortable, but he’s mostly relaxed on the cushions, pressed down into them as far as they’ll give. It reminds Dean of when they were younger, and their dad had dragged them across the country. Sam was never eager to get up and get moving—he hated how much they hopped around, complained loudly about how he wished he was normal and lived only in one spot. So it was Dean’s job to sit there every morning and pester Sam awake before Dad got annoyed enough to leave them behind (Dean had always believed it to be an empty threat, really, until the day he actually did it).

It won’t take much to wake Sam this time, though. He stopped being that deep of a sleeper when he was fourteen and terrified that Dean was going to leave him too. He sits down on the coffee table, directly across from Sam’s sleeping form, and reaches out to shove at his shoulder. Sam startles awake, his gaze darting around the room in a panic before he settles down. He rubs a hand down his face before running it back up through his hair.

“Dean?” It’s one word but in it Dean can hear all the worry, doubt, guilt, and uncertainty that Sam’s feeling. It breaks his heart. Dean’s spent his whole life sacrificing so much so that Sam would never have to feel like that. Not because of Dean.

“Hey Sammy.”

“What time s’it?” Dean shrugs. 

“Dunno. Early still.” 

“Where were you? I was worried.”

“With a friend, it’s not important.” He reaches out and hauls Sam to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get you into an actual bed.” He starts to drag Sam down the hall but Sam jerks away.

“I’m sorry,” he bursts out. “I didn’t mean what I said. Not like that. I’m so sorry. I just…I’ve been so unhappy and this is the first time since I started school where I feel like I’m finally in control of my life and I didn’t know how to explain it to you.” 

There’s a lot that’s a mess in his life right now but this, right here, Dean can fix. All he has to do is plaster a smile on his face and tell Sam that everything’ll be okay. That he understands. That it’s all forgiven.

And Dean, well, he’s never been able to deny Sam anything. Not when he turns those big, wide, puppy eyes on him, backed with an earnest sincerity that Dean’s helpless to refuse. 

So that’s what Dean does. He smiles, even though he doesn’t feel like it, feeling like it’s ripping his face apart. He tells Sam everything’s fine, even though it isn’t, and the words taste sour and spoiled on his lips. Sam doesn’t notice. He pulls Dean in for a hug, his arms clinging tight across Dean’s back and his body going lax with relief. Dean holds him up, makes sure he doesn’t fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frustrated by Dean's complete inability to have any sort of conversation about anything? Don't worry, I'm right there with ya.


	10. Chapter 10

The mall on a Saturday in mid-December is every bit as hellish as Dean imagines it to be. There are Christmas carols everywhere, ornaments and garland and fake trees with fake snow decorating the windows of every store, there’s a line of screaming children all waiting to get their picture taken with Santa, and so much forced goddamn cheer that it’s giving Dean a headache. Dean would normally steer clear of the place—the mall really hasn’t been his stomping ground since he was a teenager—except he needs to find a gift for Sam.

It has to be perfect too. None of the usual porn and beer and weirdest thing you can find at a gas station convenience store that he usually gives his brother as a gag. Because Sam’s been home a couple of weeks now and hasn’t gotten out of his pajamas once. He lies on the couch and watches bad TV and sleeps too much. He hasn’t even thought about going out and finding a job or a volunteer position or _something_ to fill the hours of the day. And Dean, well. He’s worried. Every attempt at subtly prompting Sam to do something with his life is met with resistance and a sarcastic remark on a good day. On a bad day, Sam usually just glares at him before stomping off to his room and slamming the door behind him. 

Dean doesn’t know what he can do to get his brother out of his funk and it probably won’t be a Christmas present. But he still has to try. 

The only problem is he still has no idea what he’s going to get Sam. Charlie’s meeting him though and Dean’s never been more grateful that his best friend and pseudo-sister was free on a Saturday. He hasn’t seen her in ages—their schedules just haven’t synced up for a while and Dean’s been so wrapped up in his own problems that he’s dropped off the map a bit. There are texts and voicemails and emails from a whole bunch of people—Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Ash—that he just hasn’t responded to because he doesn’t have the energy to deal with them. He’ll get back to them…eventually. When things aren’t so monumentally shitty all the time.

He’s loitering between the comic book store, where he and Charlie normally meet, and the pet store next door. There are puppies in the window, curled together in a pile and sleeping sweetly and Dean’s looking at them thoughtfully. Sam likes dogs and when they were kids, he was always begging Dean and their Dad if they could have one. He’d swear up and down that he’d take care of it and get up early to walk it and feed it and that it wouldn’t be a hassle, but in the end the answer was always no. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a poor animal along to their transient life style. And after their dad had left, well, Dean had problems enough trying to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table. There was no extra money for a dog.

“Your apartment doesn’t allow pets, Winchester.” He hears from his right side and Dean startles.

“I know that,” Dean protests as Charlie loops around his arm and hugs it. “Sam likes dogs,” he says like that explains everything.

“Right. How is Sam anyways?” Dean shrugs.

“Pretty much the same. I tossed the want-ads section of the paper at him the other day and told him to find a job, any job.” Charlie laughs.

“Yeah, I bet he took that well,” she remarks with a smirk as she leads him away from the puppies in the window and back towards the comic book store. They may be shopping for Christmas gifts, but that’s no reason that they can’t duck in and see what’s new. Andy, the associate behind the counter, recognizes them and gives them a wave as they walk in. 

“He got angry, threw the paper back at me, and locked the door to his room,” Dean admits.

“Sounds about right,” Charlie says with a nod of her head. “So. What were you thinking about getting The Incredible Hulk for Christmas then? Any ideas?”

“Honestly? I have no clue. You know we’re not exactly that into the whole holiday thing, usually.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Charlie insists.

They wander in and out of stores for over an hour and by the end of it, Dean’s exhausted and cranky and still no closer to finding a gift for Sam. They break for lunch in the food court and, while Charlie munches, Dean just shuffles his food around his plate. 

“Okay seriously? This grumpy Gus act has got to stop, Dean,” Charlie finally pipes up, exasperated.

“I’m not grumpy,” Dean denies, but without much force. He knows he hasn’t been pleasant company but he just doesn’t feel like putting in an effort. He’s unhappy and he doesn’t see the point in pretending that he’s not.

“Dude, you totally are,” Charlie says with a pointed look as she sips on her smoothie. “You’ve been this way for a while now and I’m starting to think that it’s got to do with more than just Sam.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean deflects.

“Bullshit. C’mon, Winchester, spill.” Dean glares and opens his mouth to tell her to fuck off, but instead, the whole story, everything about him and Cas just slips out of his mouth. Once he starts, he can’t stop. The past couple of weeks have sucked and Dean hasn’t had anyone to talk about this to. He’s miserable and while he does his best to avoid seeing Cas at work, he has to see him sometimes. And Cas is nothing but professional when they do meet. He takes the patients and transfers them to the trauma rooms and sometimes he’ll give Dean a nod before he gets to work but nothing else. He looks at Dean resigned and sometimes sad, and Dean didn’t know he’d miss the sly smiles or the way Cas’ eyes would light up when they bumped into each other at work before, but he does.

And while he’s a little bit horrified with himself, by the end of the tale, he’s also a bit relieved to have gotten it out in the open. Dean hates talking about his feelings but sometimes it does help (although he’d never actually admit that out loud). When he’s done, he stuffs his face with french fries to ward off the anxiety that’s building in him at the prospect of Charlie’s response.

“Okay, I just have a couple of questions,” she states with an evaluating look on her face.

“Shoot,” Dean says, trying to sound casual, but it comes out forced and stressed.

“Do you love him?” Dean chokes on his food.

“No, no! God no.” Charlie squints, like she’s trying to figure out if Dean’s telling the truth or not. Because even if Dean was, it’s not like he’d admit it after the fact in the mall food court and Charlie knows this. But apparently he passes her test and she continues, asking him her next question.

“Do you want him back?” Dean takes his time answering, thinks about it. Does he want Cas back? Their…whatever it was was nice. And not just the sex. Cas made Dean feel _cared_ for. But Dean knows now that he didn’t, not really. That all those feelings? They were on Dean’s side and his side only. And Dean won’t ever, can’t ever forget that.  

Dean misses Cas. A lot. But not enough that he’d humiliate himself to begging a guy that doesn’t want him to give him another chance. 

So he answers, “No. Not really.” Charlie expression crumbles a little, sad and sympathetic.

“Well then. Let’s get out of here.” She gathers up her many bags, because while nothing was good enough for Dean to buy for his little brother, she managed to cross everything off her Christmas shopping list. “You wanna come over to my place and watch Game of Thrones?” Dean hesitates, makes to beg off because he’s already irritable from the mall and emotionally exhausted from laying his guts out for Charlie. He kinda just wants to go home, flop in bed, and not move for a little while.  

“Please? Dorothy’s two states over hunting down some dirtbag who slipped his bail and I’m lonely. I’ve got ice cream?” She tempts and Dean sighs. He knows she’s trying to make it look like he’s the one comforting her instead of the other way around. She means well. And Dean does have to admit that getting lost in the world of Westeros for a little while is preferable to wallowing in his own misery.

“Yeah, okay.” He gets up and they walk out of the mall together, Charlie’s arm around Dean’s waist and Dean’s arm around her shoulders. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Cas has never enjoyed picking someone up from the airport. It’s a long process that never happens according to schedule and, inevitably, Cas winds up waiting around baggage claim, watching other people embrace and kiss as they’re reunited and wondering what it must feel like to actually _want_ to see the person he’s waiting for. The only people he’s ever gone to fetch were his mother, an elderly aunt that one time when he was seventeen, and his sister, whom he’s waiting for today.

His sister appears soon enough, ducking around a mother and son reuniting as she looks around for Cas. She makes a beeline for him the moment they make eye contact, stopping only a few paces in front of him. They stand awkwardly in front of each other until Cas hesitantly leans forward and places a quick kiss to her cheek. She gives him a small smile for it.

“Hael,” he greets. “Merry Christmas.”

“Castiel,” she nods. “It’s good to see you.” She says it every year; Castiel knows it isn’t true. Neither of them actually looks forward to their yearly visit. They don’t actively _dis_ like each other, but they’re not close, never have been. There’s a six year age difference that separated them growing up and that was only exacerbated by physical distance later on in life. Castiel went to college on the other side of the country and, when it was Hael’s turn, she chose a school as far away from where Cas was attending medical school at the time as she could. 

And maybe at one point, they could have bridged the distance between them, found a way to connect. But now, the chasm’s too wide and Castiel doesn’t really see the point. They see each other once a year, out of tradition more than anything else, and neither of them really wants to challenge the status quo. 

“Let me take this,” he tells her, wresting her small suitcase out of her hands. “I’m parked a ways out.” Not because there weren’t any spaces closer, but because it wasted more time that Cas would have otherwise spent sitting on the uncomfortable bench next to baggage claim C. 

“It’s the holidays,” Hael says, filling the silence.

“Mmm,” Cas agrees, hefts her suitcase up into his arms, and begins to walk to the exit. Hael follows him three paces behind the whole time. 

“How’s work? Good?” Cas asks once they get in the car and are driving on their way back to Cas’ house. Hael shrugs.

“Nothing that’d be interesting to you,” she replies. She’s right. Hael’s a geologist working down in Arizona and Castiel can’t even pretend to be interested in finding out what that means, exactly.

“And Muriel?” Her girlfriend.

“She’s well. She’s gone up to her parents’ house in Montana for the holiday.”

“That’s nice,” Cas says, unsure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that his sister and her partner are not spending Christmas together.

“We’re buying a house together.” 

“Oh?” Hael narrows her eyes.

“We’re not getting married,” Hael protests. “And we’re not having kids. I know what that ‘oh’ means. Mom used to say it just like that all the time.” Cas sighs. His sister is obviously looking for an argument.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He signals to get off of the highway and switches lanes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hael purse her lips together, defiant. “Really. All I wanted to know was what kind of house you were looking at.” He doesn’t get an answer and Cas doesn’t feel he knows his sister well enough to determine if it’s because she’s embarrassed or because she’s angry. 

The rest of their ride is silent, neither of them wanting to force conversation. The thirty minutes it takes for Cas to arrive at his driveway feels like it stretches on for hours. 

—

Hael only comes to visit once every other year. The years she doesn’t come, Cas goes to her, sleeps on her couch, and makes polite small talk with Muriel, who’s a park ranger at the Grand Canyon. Muriel’s actually quite sweet. Cas likes her, thinks she’s good for his sister. And having an extra body around always helps to diffuse the uncomfortable silences that crop up when it’s just Cas and Hael.

After they arrive home, Cas shows her where the guest bedroom is—he may have been working here for nearly a year, but Hael’s never been to visit before—places her suitcase next to the bed, and leaves her to wash up and get some rest. 

It’s late on Christmas Eve and Cas trudges to his own room. Slowly, he undresses, from undoing his shoes laces to unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls a soft gray t-shirt over his hand, puts on a pair of pajama pants and then flops down into his bed. 

It’s the first time in weeks—since Dean left—that Cas hasn’t been alone in his house, but honestly, it’s not making him feel better. When Cas first moved to this city, he’d taken his time purchasing his house. He’d spent the last few years jumping around the country, taking on whatever position a hospital would offer him and finally, he’d just been sick of it. Cas wanted some place all his own, some place he could carve out for himself and call home. He worked long hours, yes, but on his days off, he painted and decorated, adopted a cat, did his best to bring warmth and familiarity to his home. 

But the past few weeks, the place has been suffocating in its loneliness. Cas has gone out of his way not to be home; he goes out with Anna to Balthazar’s when their shifts line up and when they don’t, he takes long drives in his beat up Honda, just wandering aimlessly with no destination in mind. He’s only come home to sleep and to shower, and even then, only when he absolutely has to. The on call room is always a great place to catch a little shut eye, even if he’s not on shift, and the hospital has showers in the locker room he can use. He leaves extra food out for Matilda and he thinks she’s not starving, but he’s only seen the flick of her tail as she leaves whatever room he’s entering when he happens to be home. She’s been ignoring him, pissed off by the abandonment and neglect. Cas doesn’t blame her.

He’s very good, after all, at driving away the people he cares about.

Sometimes he thinks about what would have happened if he could have just _talked_ to Dean, instead of having him overhear half a conversation. Maybe then, if he had told Dean about his feelings, things would be different. There’s a small chance, after all, that he might have returned them. It’s enough of a chance that the itch to seek Dean out, to explain, is thrumming under his ski every time he sees Dean at the hospital. But Cas knows that it’s not a good idea. A clean break is best for the both of them, in the long run. So he bites his tongue and let’s himself fall back on his unfailing professionalism to get through their brief interactions.

Tired, Cas turns off his light and settles down into his pillow. In the morning, Hael will cook them breakfast, most likely pancakes, but if she’s in a good mood then she’ll add chocolate chips. They’ll give each other presents—Cas bought her a blue cashmere sweater and a pair of lined leather gloves that she’ll never use and a lovely purple scarf for her to pass along to Muriel—and then spend the rest of the afternoon cooking a simple but time consuming meal. They’ll eat mostly in silence, only speaking to comment on how the food is, and then they’ll go to bed early. Hael’s flight out on the twenty sixth is at 7 am. 

Cas isn’t really looking forward to any of it, but he supposes that the sooner he goes to sleep, the sooner it will all be over. 

—

It’s still dark when they leave in the morning. He doesn’t try to start a conversation this time; after the last drive, Cas thinks it’s better if he keeps his mouth shut. Hael doesn’t seem to mind. She closes her eyes and leans against the window as Cas drives. 

At the airport, Cas gets out of the car and helps get his sister’s suitcase out of the backseat. He hands it to her and gives her shoulder a squeeze, in a sudden burst of affection.

“Have a nice flight.” Hael cocks her head to the side and studies him for a moment. Under her gaze he almost feels like he’s being dissected and he squirms a bit where he’s standing, uncomfortable. After a moment, she shakes her head, resigned, but she wraps her arms around Cas’ waist and hugs him. Cas honestly can’t remember the last time his sister hugged him; it feels strange and awkward, and he hesitantly pats her on the back in the hopes that it’ll make her stop. It does.

“Thank you for having me,” she tells him as she pulls away. “It was good to see you, Castiel. If you need anything…”

“I’ll call,” Cas assures, lying through his teeth. They both know that he won’t. Hael picks up her suitcase and walks into the airport to check in. Cas doesn’t watch her go, just gets back in his car and drives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for you comments and kudos. I know I've got a spotty update schedule as it is, but it'll be a couple weeks before the next one. I'll be on vacation next week and then the week following I'll be busy at work because of the holiday. So you probably won't see an update until after July 4th.


	12. Chapter 12

“Um,” Sam says and Dean can hear him shuffle in the doorway for a second before the hinges squeak and the door clicks shut. Dean counts in his head, _one_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ …before he hears Sam take a step towards the Christmas tree that he crawled under, somewhere between his fourth beer and when Sam left to go walk Mrs. Goldberg’s yorkie. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” Dean shrugs even though he knows that Sam can’t really see it. His upper body is pretty obscured by the lower branches.

“Nothin’. Seemed like the thing to do, I guess.” Dean’s not really sure what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. By all accounts, their Christmas was actually enjoyable. They spent the early afternoon skyping with Bobby and Ellen and then watching old stop animation Christmas cartoons on Dean’s crappy TV. Dean cooked a chicken—it seemed a waste to make a turkey or a ham when it was just the two of them—and even made vegetables to go along with it. There had been family, entertainment, good food, and the whole time Dean felt lighter, happier than he had in weeks. He had been in a good place before Sam left to take he dog out. 

Sam sighs and crouches down, peering between the fake plastic pine needles to make eye contact.

“How drunk are you?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“Seriously, Dean, how many beers?” He says it with such a put upon, annoyed tone that Dean flips him off before answering.

“Four all day Sam. Only two after dinner. I told you, I’m fine. Buzzed, maybe, but not drunk.”

“You’re under the Christmas tree! Forgive me if I don’t believe you!”

“Hey don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, man. Honestly, it’s soothing. I like it,” Dean admits softly, staring up at the multicolored lights as they flicker slowly, one after the other.

“Dean, I’m worried about you.” Dean laughs at this.

“Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“Me?” Sam seems so surprised that Dean shifts a little so that he’s propped up on his elbows and can look Sam in the eye.

“Yes, you. Sam, you dropped out of law school, broke up with your girlfriend, and moped around my apartment. That’s not my brother. My brother was this floppy haired, happy, ambitious, and hopeful man who was gonna make a difference in the world. Now you walk dogs for a living!”

“It’s just temporary,” Sam stresses for what seems like the billionth time since he accepted a couple pet sitting gigs over the holidays. “Really, I mean it. I’m just…figuring things out, Dean. I’m okay, though, I promise.” Dean flops back onto the floor, stares up into it for a moment, silence straining between him and his brother.

“I dunno, man. You told me you were fine before too.” Sam doesn’t have anything to say to that and Dean can just picture his face: the strained press of his lips together in a frown, the glint of guilt in his eyes.

There’s some shuffling and Dean thinks that Sam’s annoyed enough now to leave him alone. But his brother surprises him and the next thing Dean knows, Sam’s lying next to him, under the tree, looking up at the lights expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally and Dean startles slightly, shocked. “I know I said it before but I’ll say it again and again until you believe me. I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Emotions well up in Dean’s chest and he thinks that maybe he should have had one more beer or maybe a whiskey to stamp it all out. Uncomfortable, Dean squirms a bit and changes the subject.

“Do you remember our first Christmas at Bobby’s?” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam’s mouth quirk upwards. “I was just thinking.”

“You mean that first one after—” 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Dean cuts him off.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I spent all my free time busting my ass to try and make Christmas as normal as I could for you. Because you’d spent years moaning about our life on the road and the fact that we never stayed in one place long enough. And now that we were staying in one place, well. I couldn’t make up for the fact that Dad just walked off and left us in that motel room. That was always gonna be shitty and you were right to be angry. Hell, I was angry too. But for once in your life, I wanted you to have a good Christmas.”

“You convinced Bobby to let us go and get a real Christmas tree,” Sam says quietly. “It took you a whole week of pestering him before he finally gave in, I remember. He finally threw up his hands and just said that you’d be the one cleaning up all the pine needles off the floor.”

“And we didn’t have ornaments. So we made them out of old nuts and bolts and car parts and we hung them on the tree with dental floss, while listening to that radio station that only played really awful remixed version of Christmas carols.” Sam laughs lightly at this.

“Oh man, I swear, they played like, three covers of _Last Christmas_ in the span of three hours and it was _the worst_.”

“By the end of it, you were smiling. I made us some cocoa and put extra marshmallows in yours and we sat on Bobby’s beat up old sofa and watched _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on his crappy TV that still had bunny ears. And I remember feeling proud of myself because you’d done nothing but sulk for two months but in the course of an afternoon, I managed to make it better. And after the New Year, you stopped being that awful, surly teenager with a ton of baggage and began to act like the Sam I knew again and I thought, goddamn, I _fixed_ it.” Dean swallows.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Sammy. I don’t know how to make it better.” Sam sighs.

“Dean, it’s not your responsibility to ‘fix’ my life. I’m twenty two. You’ve gotta let me make my own choices. You need to _trust_ that I’m going make the ones that are best for me. C’mon, dude,” Sam says, his voice trying for levity but failing, “you raised me better than that.” Dean feels his eyes well with tears but he forces them back, taking steadying breaths and squeezing his eyes shut until he no longer feels like a dam about to burst. They don’t speak anymore, but Sam stays with him for an hour, laying under the Christmas tree, watching the lights, before they both crawl out and head to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I suppose I owe you all a huge apology about the wait. I got distracted by a couple other plot bunnies and challenges that had some more immediate deadlines (along with dealing with my own real life stuff) and so 'gravity' fell by the wayside a bit. But! I'm back to work on this, so updates should be more regular in the coming weeks. 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to comment and leave kudos in my absence. I really do appreciate it--you guys are the best.


	13. Chapter 13

It’s only the second week of January, but Dean’s already sick of the New Year. He’s tried, he really has. He made a definite effort this year, unlike any other year before. He’s never really bought into the whole ‘new year, new you’ thing, but he’s tired of moping about and licking his wounds over a guy that he hadn’t really even been dating.  

He knows it’s a little desperate, but at this point, he’s willing to try anything.

So as cheesy as it sounds, he’s made a resolution: he’s going to get over Cas if it is the last thing he does.

He’s gone out every night since the first of the year. He’s found hookups in bars, given his number to that cute barista that made his coffee every day, and even asked out the cute, flustered guy he bumped into in the grocery store. All the encounters went well, really. He’s never had to make much of an effort, just a quick smile and some choice words it’s no different now, even if his heart isn’t as in it as much as it was before. 

It’s all lead to some very great sex that’s wonderful at the time, but in the morning leaves him feeling cripplingly empty. 

Charlie says he just needs more time. Dean thinks that’s bull shit. He never used to have any troubles with casual sex. Hell, casual sex was _his thing_. And it never used to leave him feeling like a hollowed out, cold shell of himself. Hell, a good orgasm used to put a smile on his face for days. But these trysts only make his mood darken and he’s worn out with feeling angry that his head and his heart can’t seem to get on the same page.

It’s gotten to the point where other people are noticing too. Benny got back from his vacation this morning—he’d gone down to New Orleans to visit with his family—and he took one look at Dean before whistling low under his breath. “I guess you didn’t have a great Christmas, then,” he’d commented. Dean glared and stomped off. 

Things only get worse from there. They bring in a patient who fell down the stairs and Cas is the ER doctor that meets them at the door. Dean blanches when he sees the man. It’s honestly been a while since he’s laid eyes on Cas. They’ve both been doing their best to honor their unspoken agreement to avoid the other. He looks tired and worn out and Dean thinks he’s probably been there all night but, god, he looks good too. Dean thinks it’s criminally unfair and he turns away, keeps his gaze downward as the wheel the patient inside to get some x-rays.

Benny rolls his eyes but he leaves it alone—at least, until they get their patient settled and are walking back out to their rig. 

“So you and Bluebird in there still not talking?” he asks in that casual way that is anything but. Dean sighs.

“That bridge is burned, Benny. Seriously. We’re never gonna be talking again.” Benny shrugs.

“That’s fine, I guess. I was just hoping you two would resolve the awful pining looks you give each other while I was gone. It was tiresome then and lemme tell you, it hasn’t improved with time. You two ever think about giving it one last hurrah?” Dean’s eyes almost bug out of his head.

“Are you serious?” His voice climbs about two octaves in three words.

“I’m just sayin’ I think you both need a little closure s’all.” Dean grunts, face flushing.

“Yeah, no. Not happening.” It might be a good idea, in theory, but Dean knows that if he gets even a taste of Castiel again, it’ll only make it worse. It will only be reminding him of what he knows he can’t have. 

“If you say so, brother.” Benny climbs back into the driver’s seat of the ambulance and reluctantly, Dean follows, hoping their next job will be a better distraction. 

—

It’s like pretty much any other call except for the fact that it isn’t. 

He and Benny go out to the motel on the edge of town—the shitty one that makes you pay by the hour and where Dean stayed when he first got into town and was apartment hunting. There was a man there who’d had a seizure in the lobby. It’s their job to cart him back to the hospital for tests. It’s a pretty routine call. It’s almost too simple. 

Which should have been Dean’s first clue, really, that something was going to go terribly, terribly wrong. 

Dean gets the door so that Benny can push the stretcher inside, helping him guide it through and then he turns, his eyes landing on the patient. Dean swears that time slows down and stops, just for a second. Lying on the floor in the recovery position is John Winchester.

It might be eight years since he’s seen the miserable fuck (and from the looks of it, those eight years have not been kind to John), but he’d never in a million years forget his face. His stomach lurches and Dean’s afraid he’s going to be sick, right there in the lobby, with all these people watching him.

“ _Dean_ ,” Benny snaps, concerned, and Dean comes back to himself to find that he’s standing in the middle of the room, slack-jawed, and looking like a fool. He gives a quick nod to Benny who accepts the reassurance with a purse of his lips. Benny knows him well enough to know that _something_ is wrong and he doesn’t for a minute think that Dean’s okay. 

Dean’s not. But he can still do his job.

He helps Benny get John onto the stretcher, feeling like he’s having an out of body experience. All the while, his gaze never leaves his father’s face; he can’t look away. The man’s conscious at least, his eyes open, and he moans softly as they jostle him. But he’s clearly disoriented and he doesn’t respond when Benny asks him, clear and firm,“Sir, do you know what happened?” 

Dean can’t bring himself to speak, his voice trapped in his throat. He’s never been more thankful that Benny’s a professional, that he can just leave him to do the talking. Because for the first time since he was four years old, he finds that he _can’t_. He fiddles with the restraints as Benny informs John that he had a seizure and they’re going to take him to the hospital. They get no response. He talks a bit more with the motel manager and one of the guests who happened to be checking in at the same time, asking them about how long the seizure went on and if John hit his head or not. Dean doesn’t pay attention to the answers. 

They push the gurney back out the door and Dean climbs into the back of the ambulance, helps get John secured inside, and settles in for the drive back to the hospital. With the looks he’s getting from Benny, he knows there’s no way in hell the other man is going to let him drive and honestly, Dean’s feeling too shaky to even pretend to put up an argument. They’re about halfway back to the hospital when John finally starts to look like he’s coming back to himself, blinking blearily up at Dean. There’s recognition in his eyes and immediately, Dean feels himself overtaken by nervousness. He’s never wanted to see his father again, not really, but he’d certainly imagined how it would go down if he did. But this, this is nothing like what Dean was expecting. He’s not prepared for this and instead of feeling the deserved righteous anger all Dean wants to do is bolt. Hell, he’d jump right out of the back of the ambulance this very instant, but his feet feel like they’re lead blocks. He doesn't move.

“Dean.” John smiles slightly, then huffs out a small, exhausted laugh. “God you always looked just like her. It’s the eyes, always the eyes.” There’s only one person he could be talking about. 

But Dean doesn’t even get a second to process how that digs into his heart, rends it apart, because John begins to seize again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here we go guys.


	14. Chapter 14

He’s waiting for her in the cafeteria when Anna plops down next to him, groaning and burying her face in her arms. Cas raises an eyebrow at her reaction and reaches over to pat her on the head. Honestly, he was expecting her to be on Cloud Nine. She finally agreed to go out with Michael and their first date was the previous night. The man couldn’t have screwed up _that_ bad. 

He slides the extra cup of coffee he bought over to her. “Here, everything will feel better after you have some caffeine.”

“No it won’t,” Anna says or, at least, Cas thinks she does. She doesn’t lift her head so her voice is muffled. 

“Anna, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Ann lifts her head up and glares. “I like him. I wasn’t supposed to _actually_ like him. Never in a million years did I think I’d come home from that date and want to see him again.” Cas laughs, he can’t help it. 

“Anna, you’ve liked him just fine for months now.”

“I liked the idea of him. But actually going out and liking him? I did not sign up for this, Castiel. Stop laughing at me.” Cas snickers quietly, unable to keep the grin off his face.

“You know, anyone else would think this is a good thing.” She sighs, slumps back in her chair, and curls her hands around the coffee cup.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

“He probably is too.” Cas reaches out and holds her hand, squeezing it gently for comfort. 

“It was a good date. The restaurant was good, then we took a walk around town and got coffee and dessert at this cute cafe. He kissed me goodnight, Cas. And then he popped in this morning to my department, brought me flowers,” she flushes slightly, although there’s a small smile on her face, one that Cas instantly recognizes as meaning she’s pleased. “Daisies, nothing fancy.” 

“Okay.” 

“It’s the nicest thing any man has done for me in ages.” 

“Okay,” Cas repeats.

“He wants to go out again. I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘yes’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Ugh. Why did I have to go and like him?” Anna whines, “I’m sure this is all going to end horribly. Be prepared to comfort me through my heartbreak in about six months.”  

“Or you two could wind up happy and in love,” Cas offers. Anna shoots him a look.

“Always the optimist, huh Cas?” Cas shrugs. 

“Someone’s got to be.” 

“Okay, enough about me,” Anna says taking a deep breath. “How are you?” Cas stalls and takes a sip of his coffee. Honestly, he’s alright. It’s been a bit of a weird morning, but nothing terrible has happened, no patients have died, and the only thing of note to mention is Dean Wichester studiously ignoring his existence after bringing a patient into the ER. 

So he tells her, “I ran into Dean this morning,” with a voice of practiced casualty. 

Anna studies his face for a moment before she slowly drawls, “Well, it was bound to happen sometime.” 

“I mean, it wasn’t the first time I had seen him since we…” Cas trails off, unsure how to describe the way things had crashed and burned between them. “But we haven’t crossed paths in a few weeks and I was thinking….” 

“That you were finally over him?” Anna prompts. Cas wrinkles his nose up in thought.

“Not quite. I thought it was getting better but then there he is, wheeling in a patient to the ER and all I could think about was pushing him up against the wall and kissing him.” Anna hums softly, but says no more. Cas downs the rest of his coffee and pushes away from the table.

“I should be getting back.” Anna smiles at him, sympathetic. 

“Drinks tonight?” Cas nods.

“I’ll probably need one, that’s for sure.” He goes to leave but Anna grabs the sleeve of his scrubs stopping him.

“Hey Cas? I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re going to be okay.” 

“I know, Anna,” he replies. “I know.”

— 

Seeing Dean once was just chance, but a second time? Cas is sure that someone up there must have it out for him. Because really, after already running into him that day, Cas is _not_ expecting him to be sitting in the back of the rig, face white and hands shaking. Cas himself startles, jumping slightly at the harried sight of his former lover. But Dean doesn’t even notice him—his focus is intensely on the man in front of him. The patient is strapped to the gurney, sedated, but stable looking. There are no visible wounds, besides a large cut to the man’s forehead that’s no longer oozing blood. It might require a couple of stitches but it’s certainly not a serious injury.

Cas has seen Dean wheel in people with much more serious, grislier, and dangerous wounds than the man right here and he did it all with an air of endearing, comforting bravado. There is no reason, as far as Castiel could tell, for him to have such a shocked, drawn look on his face and it makes dread well up in Cas’ stomach. Something isn’t right, something he isn’t able to see, but he won’t be able to tell until they get him inside.

“Winchester,” Cas barks, getting his attention and Dean looks up finally, his eyes fuzzy and unfocused. “Let’s go!” Cas’ orders seem to shock something awake in Dean and carefully, he hops out of the back of the ambulance. Dean’s partner—Benny, Cas thinks his name is—finally appears, having circled around to help out and together, they get the man out of the ambulance and onto the ground outside the emergency department entrance.

“Patient status?” Cas asks, as they get the man onto ground level and begin to roll him into the ER. When Dean doesn’t speak up, his partner answers instead. 

Dean didn’t speak to him earlier either, but it still stings. 

“Patient had a seizure when checking in to Pine Hill Motel, was conscious but not entirely alert at the scene. Witnesses said it lasted about two minutes and he hit his head on the lobby desk going down. He had another one ‘bout halfway back, lasted about a minute. Dean gave him lorazepam.” Cas’ brow furrows as he leads leads them into a room, helps them switch the patient from the ambulance gurney to the hospital bed. The two EMTs step back once this action is completed. Benny heads for the door, his task complete, but Dean lingers, eyes still on the patient. Two nurses—Hester and Ezekiel—swoop into the room, help him set up to examine the patient.

“Any ID on him?” Cas asks, beginning his examination, poking and prodding the man in front of him, checking his pupils with a penlight and looking for any more cuts and bruises. Benny shakes his head.

“Nope. He’s got his wallet on him, but there’s no driver’s license and the credit cards all have different names on him. Guy’s a John Doe.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, dismissing the two of them back to their work. “I’ve got it from here.” Benny nods, grabs hold of Dean’s sleeve and pulls.

“C’mon brother, let’s go.” Cas expects Dean to let Benny drag him away, but Dean pulls his arm out of Benny’s grip, shaking him off. 

“No,” he says, his voice cracking slightly with disuse and emotion. “No I’m not leaving. I know him. _I know him_.” Cas sighs. 

“Dean, even if you do know him, you can’t be here.”

“No you don’t understand,” Dean insists vehemently, his eyes burning with desperation. “His name’s John Winchester. That’s my dad, Cas. It’s my. It’s my dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ever so much for the comments and the kudos and the constant support guys. I appreciate it. I apologize that updates are so sporadic. Right now I'm applying for grad school while working full time, so writing has to take a back seat to real life. Just know that, even if it goes weeks without an update, I am working on it. I promise.


	15. Chapter 15

Cas sighs as he looks at the scans—it’s not good news.

He hadn’t suspected there would be, honestly. A medical professional only needed to look at John Winchester, see the slight yellow tint to his skin and in the whites of his eyes, to know that his liver was failing. 

But Cas does not have to like that _he’s_ the one who is going to have to tell Dean that his dad is dying.  

Cas supposes that it could be worse—the CT could have come back showing a concussion. On that front, at least, John Winchester seems to have been spared. Still, it does nothing to help the fact that the ultrasound showed advanced cirrhosis. 

At this point, the only thing that can save this man is a liver transplant. And considering the small medical history that Ezekiel managed to bully out of Dean, there’s no way in hell he’ll ever get one. Not on the transplant list, at least.

With a heavy heart, he tucks the scans under his arm and heads toward the room where John sleeps and Dean waits. He hasn’t left his father’s room once. Even when they carted him away for tests, Dean had sat, stoic and unmoving, staring at the wall as he waited for them to return. Benny had stayed with him for a little while, a comforting presence that Dean had turned toward, leaning against his friend’s shoulder, neck drooping. Cas had frowned when he saw them, jealousy swirling in the pit of his gut, making him feel like the worst person alive. He didn’t have a right to be jealous and it’s honestly the last thing Dean needed dumped on him right then. So Cas swallowed it down, focused his entire attention on Dean’s father and left the room without even a nod of acknowledgement.  

Now he wishes he had spent a moment to look Dean in the eye, to give him a smile, some semblance of comfort. Because doing so now, with the damning words on his lips, Cas just knows it’s going to come across as insincere. And it’s the exact opposite, really.  

Castiel is worried, honestly, at what Dean’s reaction will be to the bad news. He doesn’t know much about Dean’s relationship with his father—hell he hadn’t even known he was alive—but what little he can glean from Dean’s silence is that it’s not good. And Cas has caused him enough pain recently. There’s every possibility that Dean could get belligerent and angry, scream and shout, hell, even cry. Cas hates how he has to be the one to take a wrecking ball to Dean’s carefully constructed walls. 

He takes a moment to steel himself in front of the door before he lightly knocks and steps inside the room. Dean has pulled the plastic chair over from the wall and is sitting next to the bed, arms leaning on the mattress but not touching his father. At Cas’ entrance, he looks up beseechingly, like a lost puppy. Cas meets his gaze, swallows forcefully, and shakes his head, words failing him. Dean inhales quickly, staring at his father’s hands for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he starts, but that seems to be enough for the other man. He pushes his chair back, stands up, and stalks out of the room.

Cas blinks, shocked, shuffles back and forth with hesitation. He takes one look at John Winchester, still unconscious, still jaundiced, still dying, before he flies out of the room, chasing after Dean. 

Dean’s waiting for him at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorway and once he sees Cas following him, he cocks his head to the side, and turns left, down another hallway. At each and every turn, Dean waits for Cas to show up before he disappears, leading Cas through the hospital hallways. The building that Cas knows like the back of his hand turning into a labyrinth, each twist and turn he takes making him feel even more lost than the last, until finally, _finally_ , Dean is no longer at the end of the hallway, waiting to disappear. Instead, he’s leaning against a door and once he catches Cas’ eye, he ducks in. Cas is at the entryway a moment later, pushing the door open and stepping inside one of the on call rooms that’s out of the way.

The door clicks shut behind him and Cas barely manages to get Dean’s name out before the other man is on him, mouth pressed against his, hot and wet and making Cas go weak at the knees. He’d forgotten how good a kisser Dean is, how he makes him feel like a thirsty man in the desert, desperate for even the smallest drop. He lets Dean push him back into the wall, lets him slide his tongue across Cas’ bottom lip before he opens up and lets Dean sweep into his mouth, and lets Dean’s hand slip up underneath his scrubs to rest, hot and heavy, on the small of his back.

It continues for longer than it should. Cas has always had a problem telling Dean ‘no’. It’s only when Dean’s hand slides forward along his hip and dips into his scrub bottoms, reaching for his cock that’s already half hard, that Cas regains his sense. He jolts back to reality—that Dean’s father is here, in the hospital, and dying of liver failure and Cas has yet to actually say these words to Dean, has not managed to screw up the courage to tell him, to do his duty as a doctor. Softly, he grabs hold of his wrist and forces him to stop. 

“Dean,” he says, pulling away just enough distance so that he can speak, lips still brushings against Dean’s. “Dean, stop.” Dean whimpers, his body shaking slightly against Castiel. He takes a deep breath and buries his face against Cas’ neck as he gathers hold of himself. Awkwardly, Cas reaches up, wraps an arm across the back of Dean’s shoulders but Dean, unwilling to accept this comfort shakes him off, takes a step back.

“Right,” he whispers, looking at the floor and shuffling a bit further away from Cas. “I forgot. You don’t want me anymore.” 

Cas groans, frustration welling in his gut and bursting up through him like a volcanic eruption. Because that’s just not fucking true, not at all.

“It was _never_ a matter of not wanting you, you idiot,” he practically snarls, grabbing hold of Dean and twisting them around, pushing Dean up against the wall. “I’ve never _stopped_ wanting you.” He kisses Dean again, pouring all his built up frustration into it. When he pulls back and Dean stares at him, wide eyed, mouth still slightly open.

“You…want me?” Dean questions, his voice small and awed, like he can’t believe he’s understanding Cas right. 

“Yes,” Cas practically hisses before diving in for another kiss. “I want you in every single way possible Dean. Have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Dean moans, wraps his arms around Cas’ back and pulls him closer—as close as they can get—until the only space between their skin is created by the thin layers of the clothes their wearing. He can feel Dean’s erection through his jeans, knows for a fact that his thin scrubs are doing absolutely nothing to hide his own hard on, and when Dean grinds his hips up into Cas’, the spark of electricity that surges through his groin makes him pull away gasping. Dean doesn’t even give Cas a moment to regain his breath before his lips are back on Cas’ and they kiss a while more, going from frantic to an intoxicating lazy slide of lips. Eventually, with a satisfied sigh, Dean pulls away, sinks to his knees in front of Cas.

“I want you too,” he says, looking up at him hungrily from the floor and Cas groans. “Want all of you.”  

Dean pulls down Cas’ scrubs and leans forward, nuzzling at his dick through his boxers, before shimmying them down until Cas is bare before him. He takes the head into his mouth and Cas can’t help but gasp, one hand flying downwards to bury itself in Dean’s hair, pulling tight. 

“Fuck…Dean!” Cas calls out as Dean slides his way down the shaft, sucking lightly, before bobbing back up until only the tip is between his lips. “Don’t stop.” It’s hot and wet and warm and Cas, who hasn’t had this in weeks, hasn’t had anything but his memories and his right hand, can’t help but make little moans as Dean gets to work. He brings his other hand up, tries to muffle the sounds he’s making—the doors to the on call rooms are _not_ that thick and anyone could be outside right now, could hear the way that Dean is taking him apart with his mouth and _God_ that should not make be hot, but it _is_ —bites down on his knuckles as Dean lays one hand on Cas hip, bracing himself as he swallows him down. He uses his other hand to cup Cas balls, and stroke at the parts he can’t fit in his mouth. 

Cas doesn’t last much longer, the warm suction and the sight of Dean on his knees before him sending him over the edge almost embarrassingly too soon. He scrambles once he realizes what’s happening, tries to tug Dean off. But Dean stares directly into his eyes, his intent clear, as he leans back and _sucks_ at the head of Cas’ cock. He comes with a high pitched whine that falls into a low, quiet moan, and he slumps slightly, bracing himself against the wall with one hand.  

He’s out of breath and sated, a dumb smile on his face and the fact that Dean hasn’t gotten off, isn’t feeling just like him, is a mistake he must correct. Frantically, he claws and tugs at Dean’s shoulders until he gets the hint. Dean shifts, slowly getting to his feet, and the moment he’s standing Cas is kissing him again, tasting himself on Dean’s tongue and _fuck_ it’s filthy, but oh so good. Without hesitation, Cas reaches down to slip his hand into Dean’s jeans and underwear, pushing the fabric down and pulling his dick out into the open, where Cas can get a hand on him. He strokes him until Dean’s pulling away from Cas’ lips and burying his face in neck, whimpering. Cas kisses the side of his face, down his neck, and sucks a mark onto the skin where it meets his shoulder. After one particularly tantalizing stroke, Dean’s breath hitches and he’s coming, spilling across Cas’ hand and onto Cas’ scrubs. 

Cas wipes his hand on his top—it’s a lost cause at this point and he’ll most definitely have to change once he can get up the energy to leave this room—then readjusts their clothes enough so that they can shuffle over to the cot in the corner of the room. Together, they curl up on the small bed facing each other, touching each other, not quite comfortable, but unwilling to part.

“He’s dying, Dean,” Cas finally whispers, his voice hoarse. Dean laughs quietly, mirthlessly. 

“I know, Cas. I know.”

“There are options,” he says because he’s a doctor and if he can save a life, he damn well will. Dean presses two fingers to Cas’ lips.

“Not now, okay? I just…can’t. Not now.”

“Alright,” Cas concedes, pressing closer to Dean, curling his arm around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo first time ever posting smut for a fic. Go easy on me. 
> 
> Also I've never mentioned it, but you can totally come hang out with me on my Tumblr [here](http://alullabytoleaveby.tumblr.com). I'm always up for some new internet friends :).


	16. Chapter 16

Dean is selfish, he knows. It’s why he’s curled up on a crappy cot in the on call room with Cas instead of sitting in his father’s hospital room, waiting for him to wake up. It’s why he hasn’t picked up the phone and called Sammy, told him that Dad’s here, that he’s sick, that he’s dying. It’s why he chooses time and again to get lost in something—alcohol, work, sex—rather than deal with whatever situation is in front of him.

He knows it’s not a healthy way of coping, but right now, with Cas curled up against him, dozing, he really can’t bring himself to care.

Cas’ eyes are half closed and he’s laying on his side, towards Dean. Dean’s got a hand resting on his bicep, fingers curled lightly into his skin, just enough pressure to reassure them both that this is real, that it isn’t made up inside their heads. Cas has spent the past fifteen minutes just slowly stroking the side of Dean’s face, smoothing out his hair, caressing his jaw. It should be weird, but Dean finds it soothing, relaxing. More than once, he’s leaned into Cas’ touch, his eyes drifting shut. There may even have been content little sighs, although Dean will never, ever admit it out loud. 

They’re in their own little world here in the dark and god, Dean never wants to leave. He’s just….not ready yet.

So of course Cas’ pager goes off, taking the choice out of Dean’s and Cas’ hands. Next to Dean, Cas groans, pushes himself up, untangling from Dean, and peers at it. 

“Dean,” he says, his voice filled with regret. Dean shakes his head, cutting him off.

“I get it, Cas.” He props himself up on his elbows, forces a smile for Cas’ benefit. “You got lives to save.”

“That doesn’t mean that you are any less important to me,” Cas replies. Dean doesn’t know how he can just _say_ things like that, like they’re no big deal, and mean every word. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Dean’s forehead, before he climbs out of the bed and stretches. The hem of his scrub top rides up and Dean’s treated to a flash of flesh, lean and muscly, and Dean aches to reach out and touch, pull him back down onto the mattress and kiss every inch of skin he can. 

“I’m going to need to get new scrubs,” Cas remarks absently, oblivious to the hunger flickering in Dean’s eyes. He’s staring at the come smeared across his shirt and after a second, he wrinkles his nose. Dean can’t help it; he laughs. 

“Well you better get on that before whoever needs your help bleeds out or something.” Cas shrugs. 

“It’s not an urgent page. Just need to get back to work.” This time, when he leans forward, his lips connect with Dean’s, soft and loving and indulgent, before pulling away. 

“You should get going then,” Dean murmurs, but dips back in to capture Cas’ lips.

“I really should,” he responds, but he makes no move to stop kissing. In the end, it’s Dean who pushes him away.

“Go,” he says softly, giving Cas a playful push. Cas rolls his eyes.

“Fine, I’m going.” He opens the door but can’t help glancing back at Dean, still disheveled and rumpled on the bed. “My shift’s almost done—I’ve only got two hours left. Did you want to…” he trails off unsure. 

“I can wait.” Cas smiles wide, brilliantly. For the first time in days, in weeks, Dean feels like he’s done something right. 

“I’ll meet you back here?” Dean shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m gonna clean up, head back up to see my dad. I know he probably won’t wake up, but…” Cas nods.

“Alright, I’ll stop by when I’m finished in the ER.” Cas leaves then, but for once, Dean doesn’t feel left behind.

——

They’ve been home for an hour, curled up on the couch, watching bad Arnold Schwarzenegger movies, with an array of Chinese food on the coffee table when Dean hears the click of the lock and the front door squeaks open. 

Sam’s home.

“Uh,” he says upon seeing them, stopped in the doorway, not sure what to do. It’s not the first time that he’s walked in on Dean with another person but, well, usually they’re not fully clothed and cuddling. And there’s no other word for it. Dean’s resting his head on Cas’ shoulder and Cas has one arm looped around his back, his fingers tracing soothing circles on the back of Dean’s arm. 

Slowly, Dean shifts, sits up and moves a little bit away from the other man on the couch.

“Hey Sammy,” he says, waving him into the apartment.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, hesitantly, as he toes his shoes off in the foyer. 

“Not at all,” Cas says, reaching for the remote and muting the movie. “Please come in.” 

“Sam, this is Cas. He’s my…friend.” Dean says, grimacing at the end. It’s still too soon for ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or any of that other relationship crap, but ‘friend’ is far too insignificant. But it’s not like he can say ‘This is the guy that I was sleeping with who broke my heart but hey, things are better now, we’re back together, oh and also he’s our dying dad’s doctor!’

It’s a bit too much information at once.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cas says, holding out a hand for Sam to shake once he’s entered the room. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Dean.” 

“Uh, cool,” Sam stutters out, and Dean will at least give him ‘good brother’ points for not mentioning that he’s never even heard the name Cas from Dean.  

“We work together, Sammy. He’s one of the ER doctors at the hospital.”

“Oh.” Sam blinks, and Dean can actually see the gears turning in his head, rethinking the scene he stumbled upon when he arrived. “Rough day?” he asks. 

“You could say that,” Dean says with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair. “You should sit down,” he suggests, stalling slightly. But it has the opposite effect than he was hoping for. Immediately, Sam tenses, worried and suspicious. 

“Why? Oh god, are you okay? You’re not dying, are you?” 

“I’m fine,” Dean placates. “It’s not me.”

“Oh thank god.” Sam collapses onto the couch now, relieved. “Don’t scare me like that. Jeez.” 

“It’s not me,” Dean repeats. He swallows, knowing that the next few words are going to be like setting off a bomb. He reaches for Cas hand, holds it tight as he braces himself. “It’s Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated! It's a Christmas miracle! Thanks everyone for the comments, kudos, and for putting up with my spotty at best updates.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for discussion of past child abuse.

“It’s Dad.”

The sentence hangs in the air. Sam stiffens, tense, and Dean immediately wants to take the words back, take this responsibility off of Sam and shoulder the burden by himself.

But he can’t. It doesn’t work like that.

Besides, keeping this from Sam would only make him _more_ pissed off. 

“What _about_ Dad?” Sam asks, his voice flat and strained. Dean flinches and next to him on the couch, Cas reaches out, places his hand on Dean’s knee. It’s comforting and grounding and Dean can’t help but reach out and cover Cas’ hand with his own. 

“He’s um,” Dean starts to explain but all his words—which were never very many to begin with—desert him. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, floundering, before giving up.

“Dean brought your father into the ER by ambulance this afternoon,” Cas blessedly chimes in, breaking the stilted silence, and Dean relaxes back into the sofa cushions, content to let Cas take the wheel on this one. His voice is level and steady, clear and precise. “He had a seizure in the lobby of a motel on the edge of town.”  

Sam’s face remains impassive as he hears the news and Dean’s not sure why he’s hurt by Sam’s lack of emotion. John certainly doesn’t deserve it, certainly doesn’t deserve for the sons he abused and neglected to care for him, worry about him, want to save him from dying.

“He was lucky. He hit his head, but there was no concussion.”

“So he’s fine, then?” Sam asks, unimpressed. Dean sucks in a breath and that’s all Sam needs. “He’s not okay.” 

Cas shakes his head, his expression the epitome of sympathetic doctor. “I’m afraid his alcoholism is rather advanced. The seizure was merely a symptom. We’re still running tests, but I can say with good certainty that at this point, it’s too late for his liver. If he’s going to survive, he’ll need a new one.” Sam laughs, bitter and cold.

“Yeah, well tell him I said good luck with that.”

“Sam,” Dean pleads but Sam’s unforgiving, hard expression stays put.

“What, Dean?” Sam snaps. “I’m not an idiot. There’s no way in hell he’ll ever get one on the transplant list and for good reason too! He’s an alcoholic deadbeat dad. And what, you want me to offer to give him part of my liver, to help him live? Or are you going to do it yourself? Even though you put up with him beating the crap out of you for years? And yes, I do know about that. I know you tried so hard to hide it, but I know, I _saw_ what he would do to you. And I know that you only ever fought back that last time, when he tried to smack me around too.”

“He’s our dad, Sammy!” Dean protests. 

“No, he’s not. _You’re_ more my dad than he ever was! We owe him nothing and I’m sorry he’s dying but there’s nothing that I’m going to do to change that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Dean explains, frustrated. Dean’s not sure what he’s asking, if he’s even asking anything at all right now. 

“What so you’re going to do it yourself, then? Because Dean, even you have to see how fucked up that is.”

“I don’t. I don’t know, okay Sam? This happened literally this morning, forgive me if I’ve barely wrapped my mind around it, let alone figured out what I want to do.” 

“You shouldn’t need time to think it over, Dean. It’s pretty damn simple if you ask me. He hasn’t actually cared about us since mom died, so I don’t see why we should have to care about him now, just because he’s dying.” Sam’s done with the conversation now, gets up and storms off to his room, slamming the door behind him.  

Dean sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and Cas is suddenly there again. He pulls his hand out from under Dean’s squeezes it lightly, before letting go entirely in favor of rubbing up and down Dean’s back soothingly. 

“Well, that could have gone better,” Dean admits with a sarcastic laugh. Cas shrugs.

“It could have gone a lot worse.”

“Cas, I’m not sure what argument you just watched, but I’m pretty sure that was about as bad as it gets.” Cas hums, noncommittally. 

“Well, he didn’t throw a punch at you. Although I suppose that was helped by the fact that it’s not you he’s really angry with. And he didn’t run out, run away. He’s still in the other room. When you think about it, a little yelling and some slammed doors are not the worst that could happen.”

“Jeez, Cas, way to lighten the mood.” Cas winces and pulls away, stops rubbing Dean’s back. 

“Sorry. It’s just.” He swallows. “I deliver a lot of bad news, some days. I’ve seen how it affects families. Some come together and others…”

“Others fall apart,” Dean finishes for him. He sighs and pushes himself up and off the couch. “I’m grabbing a beer, you want one?” 

“Okay,” he says warily, eyeing Dean carefully when he returns. It takes all of Dean’s self control to not down the drink in one go. He wants to, god does he want to, but under Cas’ scrutiny it would be more trouble than it’s worth. He takes a health sip and then puts it down on the coffee table. 

The movie’s still playing but they’ve both missed too much at this point to bother watching the rest. Dean shuts it off and turns on a sitcom that neither of them is really watching. Cas’ focus is on Dean and Dean’s is on anywhere but Cas.

“Dad left when I was eighteen,” Dean finally says, breaking the silence. The sitcom’s laugh track plays, its timing unfortunate, but Dean doesn’t mind.  

His whole life feels like one giant joke anyways.

“I woke up one morning and he was gone.” Dean takes another drink of his beer. “Two days before that happened, him and Sam got in an argument. I don’t even remember what it was about at this point. They were always arguing. Sam and Dad were like oil and water, honestly. But I guess it was the last straw for Dad and he took a swing at Sammy. And I mean. I could put up with it, when he’d come home from a bender and he’d wind up hitting me. That was fine. But Sam was off limits. He knew that.” The audience on the TV laughs again and Cas grabs the remote, shuts it off.

“So I clocked him in the face. And then I kept punching him. I couldn’t stop.” Dean says it so matter of fact that Cas blinks, surprised. But that’s the only reaction Dean gets. Dean’s not sure if he’s comforted or disappointed by it. Part of him, the part that lurks deep down and doesn’t believe that he deserves anything good in life, wants Cas to recoil, to finally see what an awful, terrible person he is. But Cas just sits there, patiently waiting for Dean to continue.

“Pretty sure I broke his nose. Definitely gave him a black eye. He was too drunk at that point to really hurt me too much. I think he may have bruised my ribs but I just kept wailing on him. Eventually he got away from me, stumbled out the door. He came back the next night, a little more sober than usual and he apologized. In the morning, all his stuff was packed up and he was gone. No note. Only thing he left was the keys to the Impala. I always figured that was his way of making it up to me,” Dean concludes with a shrug. 

Determinedly, Cas reaches out, removes the beer bottle from Dean’s hand and places it on the table. The next thing he knows, Cas is cupping his face and his lips are on Dean’s, kissing him forcefully, lovingly, before it turns soft and sweet.  

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” Cas tells him after he pulls away. He looks his directly in the eyes as he does so, his gaze intense and meaningful. Dean can only stand it for so long.

He leads Cas to his room then, pushes him into the sheets with hands and lips, loses himself in Cas and Cas lets him, pulls him closer, until they’re pressed together so closely that Dean can barely tell where one begins and one ends. 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Dean is wrapped around him when Cas wakes up, one leg thrown over his and an arm across his chest. He’s snoring softly on the pillow next to him, each breath shallow and steady. He’s really loath to wake him—he recognizes that Dean had a very trying day yesterday—but the persistent pressure on his bladder means that he does need to untangle himself and make his way to the bathroom. So slowly, carefully, Cas lifts Dean’s arm and slides out from underneath him. Dean doesn’t stir except to burrow further into the pillow, seeking out the warmth that Castiel’s body has left behind.

Cas isn’t sure if it’s an indication of his own stealthy prowess or just how exhausted Dean is.

He doesn’t spend too long contemplating though. The next second finds him grabbing his boxers from the floor and pulling them on. He grabs the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door before he exits and pads to the bathroom across the hall. He goes through his daily ablutions, borrowing Dean’s toothbrush to take care of his morning breath. When he emerges a couple minutes later, he doesn’t return to Dean’s room, but instead moves towards the kitchen. Breakfast is probably beyond the scope of his abilities right now, but he can make coffee. The pot is sitting right on the counter and it doesn’t take long for him to locate everything he needs. The small apartment begins to smell of the roasted beans and before he knows it, there’s a creak of a door and footsteps heading towards him. 

He opens the cabinets and locates the mugs easily enough, pulling down two. He’s pouring the second cup when Sam enters the kitchen, wearing a soft looking gray t-shirt and pajama bottoms, sleep still in his eyes, and his shaggy hair mussed up from his pillow.

“Oh, I thought you were Dean,” he says, staring at Cas and taking in his state of undress. Castiel offers him a bland smile, but nothing can really take away the awkwardness of talking to your sorta-not-quite-ex’s brother while in your underwear. 

“No, he’s still out. Although I think he’d be glad to know that you’re up and about. He was worried about you last night.” Sam sighs.

“He worries too much.”

“Better than worrying not enough.” He hands Sam the second cup of coffee. “I don’t know if you like milk or sugar, but I suppose you can help yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, reaching for the small sugar bowl that sits next to the coffee pot. He puts one spoonful of sugar into the cup before stirring it absently. They both shift to the small table in the kitchen, taking seats opposite of each other. “I never really liked the taste of coffee, especially not when I was younger. My dad was…well, he was a dick about a lot of things and liking sugar in my coffee was definitely on that list. It wasn’t manly or something, I don’t know. Dean’d tease me a bit about it too sometimes, but he’d always hand me a cup with just the right amount in it.”

“Dean’s a good person,” Cas replies, and with the stare that Sam is fixing him with, it almost feels like he’s being tested, evaluated. 

“He is,” Sam says, stare getting more intense. “Don’t hurt him.”

“That has never been my intention.” And it hasn’t, not really. All the pain and hurt they’ve both been wading through was really just Castiel trying to have even the smallest ounce of self-preservation. He’s glad they’ve moved past it, somewhat. They still need to talk but he figures that he’ll save the uncomfortable conversation about feelings for a moment when Dean hasn’t been faced with his dying, estranged father the day before. 

It can wait and there’s a pleasant warmth that fills him at the thought. It can wait because Castiel is going to be there tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that, for as long as Dean wants him to be. 

He’s not going anywhere.

From the other side of the apartment, they can hear the floorboards groan and the shuffling of steps that means Dean is finally rising from his slumber. A moment later, he appears in the doorway to the kitchen and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Sam and Cas at the table, gaping.

“You, uh. Cas. Sam.” He makes a noise that’s a cross between a grunt and a whine. Sam snorts.

“Cas made coffee. Have a cup before you try to converse, yeah?”

“Oh shut up,” he snipes, but he makes his way over to the coffee pot all the same. He drinks it black and Castiel can’t help but wonder after the story Sam told him if it’s by habit or by choice. After a couple of sips, he sighs and leans back against the counter. More awake now, his gaze lands on Cas and stays there, taking in his appearance. “Was wondering where my robe was.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed it,” Castiel says, picking at the sleeve. 

“Nah Cas, it’s fine. You need to borrow some clothes too, or did you want to stop home before you went in?” Cas glances at the clock. It’s still early though and he’s got plenty of time before his shift starts. Part of him wants to take Dean up on his offer, to stick as close as possible until he has to go to work. But as nice as it would be to stay with Dean, Cas doubts his clothes would fit him correctly; it’d bother him all day. And while he doesn’t really want to leave, he does need to check in on Matilda and feed her. A shower wouldn’t hurt, either. 

“I should probably head out in a bit,” he says eventually. “But I’ve got time.” Dean makes his way over to the table now, sits down in the seat that’s next to Cas.

“Cool,” he says, grabbing onto Cas’ hand and holding it under the table. 

He doesn’t let go, not until it’s time for Cas to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Anyone there? If there isn't, it definitely serves me right. All of my apologies for abandoning this for so long. It was definitely not my intention. And I certainly can't promise more regular updates in the near future, as I'm moving to London in a week to start grad school, but I will definitely try.
> 
> In other news, during my 8 month hiatus from this fic, I wrote a [DCBB](http://alullabytoleaveby.tumblr.com/post/127575691970)! Not sure when I'll be posting yet, but keep your eyes pealed this fall if you're interested.


	19. Chapter 19

Treat it like a bandaid, he thinks, standing outside his father’s hospital room, staring at the closed door. Do it quick, don’t drag it out, then it’ll only hurt a little bit, only hurt for a small amount of time. It’s better than going slow, feeling the adhesive rip from every centimeter of his skin.

He wonders why he can’t just leave the bandaid on. It’s not doing anyone any harm, after all. He’s so tired of hurting. Seems like he never stops. Dean can only suppose that he’s done something to offend the universe though, because the hits just keep coming.

Part of him—most of him—doesn’t even want to go in. Why should he, after all? Why should he, when his father’s done nothing but drink and yell and leave bruises on his skin. There’s a reason, a voice in his head reminds him, that he took Sammy and ran.

But he can’t just leave his dad here, dying and alone. He just can’t. Sam would call him a doormat if they could actually have a conversation about it. But Dean hadn’t wanted to break the uneasy truce in the kitchen this morning. They’d talked about the weather, the dogs Sam was walking, patients that Cas has treated—unoffensive things that wouldn’t start an argument. Dean could almost pretend it was a normal morning except for the fact that their father was lying in a hospital bed with liver failure.

Sam had left shortly after Cas had, needing to get across town to take a golden retriever to the park before it peed all over its owner’s floor. Apparently he’s taken on some more clients besides Mrs. Goldberg. But it left Dean all alone in the apartment and, after washing up all the breakfast dishes, he’d gotten dressed, got in his car, and driven to the hospital before he had time to talk himself out of it.

Unfortunately, he seems to have finally caught up with himself right here, standing outside his father’s hospital room. He can’t go in, but he can’t bring himself to leave either. Trapped in the limbo of indecision, Dean slumps against the wall and digs his phone out of his pocket. Unlocking it, he goes straight for his contacts, his finger hovering over ‘Castiel’ for a full ten seconds before he sighs and locks the screen once more. 

Cas’ shift in the ER started three hours ago, he knows. He’s doing important things, saving lives. He shouldn’t have to deal with Dean’s shit, especially not after the intensive crash course in Winchester he got last night. And as much as he’d love it if Cas was with him to hold his hand, he knows that it’s not possible right now. Texting him or calling him isn’t going to make a difference. Dean doubts he even has his phone on him, that he’d be able to answer.

Doesn’t change the fact that he could use some moral support.

He understands why Sam didn’t offer to come with him today. He really does get it. But that doesn’t make facing the drunk who made regular use of him as a punching bag when he was a kid alone any easier.

“You gonna go in sometime today, Winchester?” 

He startles, flinching back into the wall behind him, knocking his head against it.

“Didn’t see you there, Doctor,” he says, wincing as he rubs his head. The red haired woman in blue scrubs crosses her arms over her chest, clearly unhappy. She looks familiar and Dean thinks he’s seen her hanging out with Cas a few times in the cafeteria.

“It’s Anna.”

“You uh…you one of his doctors or something?”

“Definitely not,” she says with a snort. 

“Yeah, he’s…a piece of work,” Dean admits.

“Look, go in, don’t go in, it doesn’t matter to me. But standing in the doorway, trying make a decision isn’t gonna do anyone any good.” 

“I _know_ ,” Dean snaps. “I didn’t ask for your _advice_ or anything.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “Have a good day.”

“Wait,” he calls out after she’s taken a couple steps down the hallway away from him. “Wait, come back." 

She turns and eyes him up and down, the disapproving frown on her face even more harsh than usual.

“I don’t even know why I’m helping you,” she says with a disbelieving sigh. But she takes the necessary steps back so that she’s standing right next to Dean in front of the door. She glances at him one more time, evaluating, before reaching out and placing her hand on the door knob.

Dean’s eyes widen, panicked, as she twists the silver knob and pushes the door open, but he doesn’t stop her. The door swings open and then there’s the soft press of her hand on his shoulder and she gently forces him into the room.

“It’s okay, Dean,” she says and yeah, no, it’s really, really not because sitting up in the bed is his father, awake and looking every bit as sick as he actually is. He feels her squeeze his shoulder lightly, comfortingly before she steps away. Dean doesn’t watch her go, though; he’s too focused on the man in front of him. The door clicks shut quietly behind her and then they’re alone.

“Hey Dad,” Dean croaks.

“Dean,” John coughs. “Friend of yours?” he asks with a nod of his head towards the door.

“No. I don’t. I don’t even know her. Not really.” Dean shifts his weight from side to side, his shoulders tensed, poised to flee.

“Why don’t you sit down?” John finally says when the silence between them stretches out too long for comfort.

“I’m fine,” he protests but John won’t hear it. 

“I said sit down, Dean,” he says again, more forcefully.

He hates himself a little bit for it, but Dean obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay in my defense, 7 months is a slight improvement?
> 
> Sorry guys, I'm trying, I really am. But grad school is slowly sucking the life from me. 
> 
> If you're still reading this, thanks.


	20. Chapter 20

“It’s been a while,” John says after the silence between them stretches out just a moment beyond uncomfortable.

Dean scoffs. “Not long enough.” He can see his father’s hackles rise, anger flushing his cheeks pale pink, in spite of the yellow of his jaundiced skin. But he holds it in, doesn’t blow his top like Dean expects him to.

“How’s Sam?” He asks instead. Dean’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline in disbelief.

“How’s _Sam_?”

“There’s no need for theatrics, Dean. I’m just asking after my son.”

“Right. Your son. The one that you took a swing at when he was fourteen. Although, I suppose that would qualify him to really, truly be your son, then. After all, I had been your punching bag for years by that point.”

“Dean,” John implores with a frustrated, sigh. Like Dean’s over reacting for being pissed about the years of abuse he endured.

“Sam’s fine,” he says with a roll of his eyes, cutting off the building argument at the head.

“Fine? That’s all I’m gonna get?” Dean bites his cheek and takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Considering you haven’t spoken to him in about ten years, yeah. That’s all you’re gonna get. If you want more, you’ll have to ask Sam, but it’s unlikely that you’ll get the chance.”

“You gonna keep him from me?” John asks with a deprecating laugh. “What do you think I’m going to do to him? Not exactly in fighting shape these days.”

“I’m not keeping Sam from coming to visit,” Dean replies. “He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions. The reason he isn’t here now is because doesn’t _want_ to be here. Hell, he practically stormed out of our apartment when I told him about you.”

“And that’s got nothing to do with you whispering in his ear all these years, telling him what an awful father I am?”

“Dude, what drugs do they even have you on?” Dean blurts out before he can think better of it. “You and Sam have always been at each other’s throats. I was constantly playing the peacekeeper!”

“You should show me some respect. I’m your _father_ ,” John says.

“Like that means something,” Dean sneers. “God, what am I even doing here?” he asks.

“You tell me, son. I certainly didn’t ask for you,” John spits.

“You’re here, aren’t you? You’re here, in this city, where I live,” Dean insists. John rolls his eyes.

“I had no idea you were here, Dean. You or Sam.”

“You really expect me to believe it’s coincidence? It’s been ten years and it’s just serendipity that drops you back into my life?”

“Yes,” John insists. “You said it yourself; it’s been ten years. Why the hell would I bother looking for you two now?” The truth—and it has to be, really—feels like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. It knocks the breath straight out of him, leaving him gasping.

It’s in this break that a nurse steps in, blue scrubs, round face, brown wavy hair, and a name tag that reads ‘Meg Masters’.

“Think you can reschedule your shouting match until sometime after he gets out of the hospital?” she snarks. “As entertaining as your telenovela worthy drama is, there are people here who could do without the noise.”

“You’re right,” Dean replies quietly. “I should uh. Go.”

“ _Dean_ ,” his father barks, irritated that their argument is getting cut short. But the thought of spending one more minute in his father’s presence makes him want to scream. He’s had enough—for today at least. Every interaction with John Winchester chips away at the familial bond between them. Eventually, Dean’s sure, it’ll be weak enough to break and, maybe then, he be able to stop trying.

* * *

 

Dean’s already pretty drunk by the time Sam gets home, the sun just beginning to fall below the horizon. Dean raises his beer can towards his brother in a semblance of a toast before knocking back the rest of it and crushing the can in his fist. To his credit, Sam doesn’t judge. Just gets another couple of beers from the fridge and sits down next to him at the kitchen table.

“What are we drinking to?” Sam asks, aiming for levity but mostly just coming across as resigned.

“To ‘I told you so’s’,” Dean replies, opening the can and taking another healthy drink.

“Reunion with Dad went that well, huh?”

“You were right,” Dean admits.

“I didn’t want to be, if that helps,” Sam says, taking a drink of his own beer. “I was sorta hoping you would tell me I was wrong.”

“Dad’s a dick, Sammy.”

“I know. But I didn’t want him to be. For your sake at least.”

“For my sake?”

Sam shrugs. “You always wanted to believe the best in Dad. Even when he was smacking you around.”

“Dunno, always seemed to me like you were the one jonesing for the apple pie life.”

Sam smiles, wry. “Yeah, well. Look where that got me.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re both a bit sick of pretending.” Dean pushes back in his chair, pressing his palms flat against the table to steady himself as he stands. “C’mon, lets go watch a movie or something. You can tell me all about the dog walking empire you’re building while you try to find yourself.” Sam rolls his eyes but follows him into the living room.

“It’s hardly an empire, Dean. Just something to do to kill a little time, that’s all.”

“Hey, that _Eat, Pray, Love_ lady fucked off to India. Way I see it, dog walking’s a hell of a lot cheaper.”

“Dude, did you really just admit to reading _Eat, Pray, Love_?” Sam asks with a grin, turning on the TV.

The night isn’t perfect, but Dean can’t help but think for the first time in a long time that everything is going to be okay. He’s still got Sam, after all. Always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! Less than 3 months! But I can admit right now it will be a long while until the next one--gotta write a dissertation and figure out what I'm doing with my life after that gets turned in. So the chances of any activity on the update front are basically zero until the fall. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, for comments, and for kudos. You guys are the best, seriously.


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